


To Die For

by caribouandcake



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caribouandcake/pseuds/caribouandcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shirosaki is the bloodthirsty Count Dracula, Grimmjow his fearless rival in the fierce battle for a certain orangette's love... and soul. Based on the original novel by Bram Stoker. AU, yaoi, twoshot, GrimmShiroIchi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

TRANSYLVANIA

Castle Dracula

The Year 1462 A.D.

...

Centuries ago, in an age of royalty and power overseen by God's one true church, we begin our tale far before any of its mortal characters were brought into this world. It was a time of war and strife and bloodshed, righteous armies clashing together in battle over and over again, the death toll rising with every passing hour as men sacrificed themselves in the name of their God. In the year during which begins our terribly beautiful story, the holy city of Constantinople had fallen to Muslim Turks who swept across Europe's borders with a vast, superior force to strike at the country of Romania, threatening all of Christendom.

From Transylvania arose a brave knight of the Order of the Dragon, known as Draculea, his name forgotten and his legacy therefore referred to by that moniker for the rest of history. He was renowned far and wide for his fearlessness and the merciless way he slaughtered all who opposed him, that and for his pale, phantom-like appearance that inspired awe and struck fear into his enemies' souls.

On the eve of the battle, the one thing he treasured above all else was his most heartfelt reason to return home victorious and this was his young lover he adored and idolized endlessly - a male of eighteen years with hair like the light of the sun itself. His love knew he must face an insurmountable force from which he might never return and desperately begged him not to go, clinging to him until the time came for him to ride into battle. Pressing their lips together for one last time, he promised on his very soul he would once again kiss his beloved's precious mouth and then was gone.

The knight fought tirelessly until that evening's sunset when, surrounded by a field of his defeated enemies impaled on stakes, the moment of his triumph was realized. He kissed the crucifix around his neck, praising the heavens that he was victorious, yet his mind reminded him of his love who still awaited his safe return at the castle and for a reason yet unknown a sense of urgency flared within him. He rode fast and hard back to his home, terror piercing his heart as it knew what his mind did not, and once he finally burst through the chapel doors his worst of fears awaited him for lying lifelessly before the altar was his lover, cold and still in death.

Not an hour preceding his arrival, the Turks, recognizing their inevitable loss, had attempted to wound their conqueror where it would hurt more than all else on this earth and shot an arrow into his castle carrying the false message of his demise. Inconsolable and unwilling to live without him, his beloved had flung himself off the tower down into the unforgiving waters of the river. Gasping in horrified disbelief, the knight collapsed onto his knees beside the body of his beloved. Reaching for ahand no longer warm with life, he kissed it reverently and held it against his cheek as sobs of despair and loss wracked his body.

Behind the altar stood the chapel's bishop, who decided then to speak of how anyone who committed the immortal sin of suicide could not be forgiven by God. His sunshine-haired lover's soul could not be saved for the rest of eternity. He was damned.

The knight roared upon hearing such cruel and blasphemous words, standing to his feet and demanding to know if this was his reward for defending God's church. Whilst the bishop and the priests proclaimed sacrilege, he knocked all of the altar's offerings to the ground and snarled viciously that he renounced God. Declaring he would rise from his death to avenge his love's with all the powers of darkness, he unsheathed his sword and plunged it into the heart of a massive stone cross in the ultimate display of faith forsaken.

Blood began to pour from where the sword was embedded into the cross and then from eyes of the saintly statues and every candle's flame within the chapel. He swept a golden chalice up and held it to the crimson waterfall raining from the cross, filling it to the brim with the unholy liquid before bringing it to his mouth and drinking every last drop.

The blood is the life, he said, and it shall be mine...

...

LONDON

Morning

The Garden at theKurosaki Estate

The Year 1897 A.D.

...

It seemed Ichigo Kurosaki was always waiting for that man to show up.

Not that he truly minded, for he was sure he could spend an eternity patiently expecting said man's arrival if it meant that eventually he would be able to gaze upon the other's physical magnificence. Though he would sooner die than admit to it, of course.

This time he was waiting seated on one of the stone benches located underneath an intricate, iron arch and within the lush greenery of his family estate's sprawling grounds. It was around eight o'clock in the morning, the sun halfway through its ascent into the unusually clear, bright sky. A book he intended to read lay open upon his lap, its presence rendered unnecessary since Ichigo's ever growing anticipation for that familiar, broad-shouldered figure to round the rose bushes as promised any second now.

It was likely clear by now that the man coming to meet him was no ordinary acquaintance, or even friend. No, he was far more than that, Ichigo thought to himself dreamily whilst resting his chin in the palm of one hand and letting his gaze turn dazed and unseeing as he called forth sweet memories of whom he waited for. Memories that detailed words and acts forbidden by the current views and beliefs of proper English society and therefore made all the better.

To elaborate, he was Ichigo Kurosaki, at eighteen years of age the youngest son of the long deceased Lord and Lady Kurosaki who left he and his three elder brothers a fortune and their noble status. A scholar his whole life, he was indulged in all of his pursuits and somewhat spoiled by his three, much older siblings who allowed him freedom from societal regulations and obligations and expectations, otherwise he'd be betrothed to some humourless daughter of nobility and using all of his time to manage his family's finances and tend to other mind-numbingly boring matters. Ichigo knew he was incredibly fortunate and therefore perpetually grateful to his brothers for their leniency.

For it was because he wasn't forced to find a bride and marry that he was free to find true romance, even if he couldn't ever tell a soul aside from his brothers about his clandestine love affair with a middle-class solicitor, a man, he adored more than anything else. However, he wasn't quite so maudlin when expressing his feelings aloud... All right, maybe he was.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes this beautiful morning," a deep, perfectly masculine voice cut into his thoughts, causing him to immediately glance over where it had come from, what he then saw bringing an impossible to conceal bright smile to his face.

The new arrival was a man eleven years Ichigo's elder and almost surreally blessed with stunning good-looks, his flawless face and a muscled, tall figure of virile perfection like that of a legendary hero and without rival in all of London. What really drew the younger man to him though was his sublime and completely unique colouring. The sun kissed, bronzed like a Greek god hue of his skin contrasted beautifully with his porcelain blue tousled locks and eyes of endless azure seas that pulled any who looked within down into their stormy waters.

He was dressed in the fine travelling clothes of a successful businessman, which he was, including an always appropriate black overcoat, leather boots, and a silver chain leading inside his breast pocket and at its end held a customary pocket watch.

But this man, one Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, had to disagree on who the loveliest male on the face of this earth really was.

From the second he'd turned the corner and happened upon the divine vision seated on that stone bench, he nearly lost control of himself like every time he beheld the ethereal portrait awaiting his arrival. At the sight of the somewhat mussed halo the colour of imported nectarines and sunshine that framed an angelic face of tawny and rose complexion, the excuse for his tardiness that rested at the ready on the tip of his tongue vanished from existence and all Grimmjow could think of was the alluring picture the youth and his background of flowers and foliage painted.

The lithe, toned body he so desired was adorned in charcoal grey straight-legged trousers and a buttoned waistcoat over a crisp, collared white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to the elbow. But the most noticeable aspect of the boy's wardrobe, or lack thereof, were his bare feet, unseemly for a young nobleman yet still said nobleman's usual state of dress.

Expressive eyes a luminescent, glittering dark amber bordered by thick, black lashes displayed a delight that the blue-haired man shared in, not hesitating a moment later to stride across the distance between them and lower himself onto the bench beside Ichigo.

To any onlooker this intimate meeting between the two secret lovers so clearly enamoured with each other and their relationship's beginning far back in their history may appear unreal for its perfection and the fact they were both known as brash, strong-willed men in their prime. Not only was it considered an offence against the church and one's family name to be romantically involved with another male but these men were possibly the least likely on the face of the earth to share such a loving, tenderhearted moment. And at one point they'd thought so, too.

They were first introduced approximately a year ago, Grimmjow employed by the eldest Kurosaki brother to organize and document the estate and family affairs that had become an absolute mess since their parents' deaths. From the second they made eye contact they automatically despised each other, their stubborn natures and uncensored speech leading to countless arguments and shouting matches. For three months their rivalry continued, each unwilling to acknowledge the overwhelming attraction between them, and then they had their biggest fight of them all, so volatile it escalated from verbal to physical, and simultaneously they had frozen still in their positions while wrestling each other on the floor, unable to recall the reason they began arguing at all.

It's still debated who kissed whom, but after several minutes of pawing at each other in blind lust that was pretty much it for them,realizing their intense feelings as an undeniable desire and passion and something far beyond anything either had ever experienced which they eventually recognized as love. Since then they had continued their romantic tryst, hidden to the world save for Ichigo's brothers who figured them out but assured they supported anything that made their baby brother happy.

And there they were months later and as amorously, overwhelmingly devoted than ever.

"You're not too harsh on the eyes yourself," the orangette said softly, carefully moving one hand to lay atop Grimmjow's gloved one. "So, what was it that caused you to be late this time? And if you blame your damned cat getting loose for the hundredth time I swear I'll cuff you upside the head."

Ichigo was pleased when his lover chuckled in amusement, circling his fabric-covered hand around to squeeze the younger man's fondly. "No, I'm afraid it wasn't my cat that kept me this particular morning," Grimmjow said, caressing the other's hand gently using his thumb and sending a flutter of butterflies through his beloved's stomach. "I had a few problems regarding my journey to Romania I needed to sort out seeing that I depart within the hour."

"Must you leave England for an entire month? I will be bored to tears here without you," Ichigo sighed as if defeated, already knowing the answer and accepting his blue-haired lover would be gone for an agonizing four weeks.

"I shall miss you, too, sweetheart," Grimmjow said, smiling a little at the teenager's admission of missing him terribly during his absence that strengthened his already overflowing affection for the orange-haired beauty. "And I'll write you everyday and I expect you to send a letter in return for every single one of mine... or else I'll have to punish you."

"Mmm, I think I might be bad on purpose so you will have to do just that when you come back," Ichigo said huskily, taking advantage of the garden's privacy to clasp his free hand onto the back of the blunette's neck and pull him closer. Never one to be passive in physical acts of love, Grimmjow took the hint and swept down to press his lips against the full, satiny ones practically begging to be kissed and bitten 'till they were blood red.

Ichigo immediately deepened the kiss, parting his lips invitingly and humming in approval when the older man's warm tongue delved into his open mouth, tasting him and skillfully massaging his own wet muscle. But entirely too soon, Grimmjow pulled away and he was left breathless and aching for more.

"Damn it all to hell but I'm truthfully considering missing my train in order to stay and ravish you right here on this bench," the solicitor growled, eyes closed for if he beheld the desire in Ichigo's rich tea-coloured gaze and the blush tinting those faintly freckled cheeks he'd definitely decide to do so. Nevertheless, his traitorous logical part of his psyche reasoned that if he abandoned this lucrative employment opportunity he wouldn't earn its salary's equal anytime soon and there went their dream of moving together to the countryside where they could peacefully live without fear of their relationship being discovered.

"But you don't intend to, do you?" came Ichigo's quietly disappointed reply, unaware of the effect it had on Grimmjow, weighing him down with guilt.

"If I want to keep the job that will pay for our future, I'm afraid not," the elder of the two said apologetically. "Try to imagine the endless amount of time we will soon have to ourselves. I know I am most eagerly looking forward to it."

"I'm certain it will be the sole source of excitement I will have here while you're away," Ichigo said, smiling wryly and brushing his hand along the warm, tanned flesh of Grimmjow's corded neck, angular jaw, and finally the planes of his cheekbones upon which he rested his palm ever so lightly. "Promise me you'll come back to me safe and sound so I don't have to yell at you," the orangette demanded in a hushed whisper.

"I swear on my life, sweetheart," Grimmjow said, grinning at how Ichigo never seemed to realize how demanding he could be. "I hope you know that you need do the same for me and take care of yourself in my stead. Now, I don't have much time left, so come here and give me a proper goodbye." The man was barely able to say his last couple words before he was utterly silenced in the most pleasant of fashions, Ichigo obeying his orders to the fullest by wrapping both arms around his neck and seizing his lips in a fierce, electrifying kiss. Grimmjow instantly melted into the lip lock, running a white satin-covered hand through honey orange blossom tresses and gripping a handful whilst his other arm hooked around a slim waist to pull that tempting body flush against him.

Ichigo was the one who pulled back this time, eyes sad yet gleaming lovingly as he whispered almost silently, "Go."

Stealing one last peck on the lips he would miss so much, Grimmjow released his lover and so very reluctantly stood from the bench. One hand still holding the orangette's, he in a rare occurrence spoke his true feelings even though he was sure he sounded rather unlike himself. "Until I return, remember I... love you."

"And I, you," Ichigo said steadily, kissing Grimmjow's fingers tenderly and then letting them go. "All right, get out of here before we begin sounding as if we're characters in those cheap, romantic novellas." The teenaged male gave a brief laugh meant to disguise the fact he was on the verge of tears in vain for he could never hide whatever he was feeling from those soul-searching blue eyes.

"As you wish," Grimmjow said, spinning on the heels of his leather boots and walking away so quickly in the blink of an eye he was gone.

The man's glaring absence felt as if a part of his soul had been ripped out of his body, leaving a gaping wound throbbing painfully. Screwing his watery eyes shut, Ichigo willed himself to act like the grown man he considered himself to be and not cry openly the first time in years simply because he faced thirty long days in which to miss his blue-haired lover.

It wouldn't so bad, he tried to reassure himself, he would keep himself busy during Grimmjow's absence. There was sure to be something that would catch his interest.

...

TRANSYLVANIA

Several Days Later

Midday

On a Train

...

After days of travelling by train across Europe until reaching the city of Budapest early that morning, Grimmjow was relieved to at last be nearing his destination. Spending so much time chugging along the endless railroads was incredibly dull when he had done everything he possibly could the very first day and therefore was left staring out the window for hours on end.

He had written a letter to Ichigo every day as promised, writing pages detailing his journey to his client's home in Romania in order to take up more time and sending them to London at the next station. He wouldn't be able to receive any letters in response until his short-term residence at his employer's family estate but knowing he could look forward to Ichigo's replies once there was good enough.

Grimmjow, however, spent the majority of his time en route to pour over the numerous documents enclosed in the file of his client, whose name and title were written on the pieces of parchment as: Count S. Dracula. Save for the eerie sound of the Count's family name, there wasn't much out of the ordinary about the estate and its affairs if you didn't consider that over the centuries practically nothing had changed in all respects concerning properties and finances to be... strange.

This count was certain to rank among Grimmjow's particularly eccentric clients, his old world, almost too polite manner of communicating evident in the brief letter he'd penned to the solicitor.

My friend,

Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. At  
the Borgo Pass, my carriage will await you and bring you to me.  
I trust your journey from London has been a happy one and that  
you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.

Your friend,

D.

It was as if everything had some kind of double meaning to Grimmjow's disliking as he wasn't a fan of people who spoke in riddles and circled around their point wasting precious time instead of outright saying whatever was on the mind. If this was the case with the Count his visit to Transylvania would be a very long three weeks.

His view from the train's window was an impressive scope of densely wooded, snow capped Carpathians winding throughout the still wild and untamed lands of the old country. He couldn't spot any sign of civilization amongst the miles of untouched nature visible on the train following tracks laid upon treacherously narrow ledges along the mountainsides. Breaking away from the sight of the formidable landscape, Grimmjow reached inside his winter overcoat's inner pocket and withdrawing a square object made of silver filigree. Flicking it open with his thumb, he revealed the velvet lining and oval cutouts within.

On the left side there rested a black and white photograph, a recent invention, of the constant, adorable scowl on the pretty face of his beloved. Ichigo's usual expression was perfectly captured in the picture though he missed seeing the teenager's sunset-coloured hair and glittering brandy orbs. The opposite slot held the folded parchment of the orangette's first romantic letter he wrote to Grimmjow, bits from lines of the familiar hurried scrawl able to be seen. He stared at the photograph for a minute or two, afterwards storing it back in his pocket.

It was nightfall when the train slowed to a halt at the spot for those headed for Transylvania to disembark, the barely inhabited locale only meriting a clearing of trees as its main station.

Jumping from the train car's step to the ground blanketed in fresh snow, Grimmjow rose an eyebrow as he scanned the apparently deserted area. Far faster than its previous stops, the train took off once more and sent a burst of wind gusting over its former passenger as it disappeared into the twilight. For about a half a minute, Grimmjow assessed his surroundings for his best guess in direction and a little taken aback when suddenly out of nowhere four jet black horses galloped from within the trees, pulling an antiquated carriage behind them.

A bearded man dressed in layers of fur was its driver, looking directly at the Englishman and jerking his head toward the carriage door that promptly swung open. Figuring this must be his transportation to the Count's home, Grimmjow tossed his suitcase inside and quickly followed, shutting the door closed behind him. As soon as he was seated, the carriage began barrelling swiftly through the mountainous dense forest. Pushing the curtain aside, he stuck his head out of the window.

"Hey, you - driver! How far is it to the castle?" he called to the carriage driver, waiting for an answer that never came. Irritated, Grimmjow sat back on the seat and propped his feet on the other opposite his, resigned to accept he'd reach his destination whenever that may be. It wasn't much time before the sounds of wolves howling nearby carried on the bitter winds making for a menacing atmosphere.

Eventually the carriage lurched to a halt, the blunette thinking this better be the end to his arduous, week-long journey and grabbing his suitcase handle to exit quickly as he could. Again peeking out of the window, his gaze travelled backwards to witness something utterly unnatural. The wolves he heard howling were snarling beyond a vortex of pulsating rings of blue fire.

Unable to believe what he saw to be real, he closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face before opening them to give the location of the supernatural mirage a second look. To his relief, all he saw were the wolves running away and no sign of mystical sapphire flames.

Stepping outside, Grimmjow was then abandoned by the horse-drawn carriage and driver but this didn't matter because from the ancient, stone turrets soaring stories high he'd finally made it to the Count's castle. He was presently standing in the historic structure's courtyard, steps straight across a few yards leading up to a closed set of heavy double doors.

Wasting no more time, Grimmjow approached the castle's entrance and once he set foot on the top step was pleasantly surprised to witness the doors creaking open for him to enter, which he did. Frowning disapprovingly at what greeted him - the crumbling ruins of the entrance hall sparsely decorated in what incredibly had to be the original 15th century furnishings - he looked above him to know whether or not to be wary of falling debris and nearly shouted a slew of curses at the sudden appearance of the Count when he returned his gaze forward.

"Welcome to my home. Enter freely of your own will and leave some of the happiness you bring."

The speaker was a man around Grimmjow's age, skin and long hair paler than the moon and whiter than snow. His features were actually classically handsome yet overwhelmed by their chalky pallor and his unnaturally coloured eyes, irises gold like fire and the ordinarily white sclera black as night that pierced right through you uncannily. Dressed in crimson, flowing silk robes spectacularly embroidered with intricate dragon designs in golden thread and bearing a train trailing yards upon yards along the floor, he carried at shoulder level a flickering lantern that cast shadows dancing across his politely smiling face.

"Count Dracula?" Grimmjow couldn't imagine this unorthodox character being anyone else but in this bizarre place he couldn't know for certain.

"I am Dracula," the ghostly man said in a lilting, silvery Eastern European accent. "And I bid you welcome, Mr. Jaegerjaques, to my house. Please, come in."

...

Preceding a relatively silent guided tour to the castle's dining room, Grimmjow sat at one end of long, narrow table and the Count at the other. Laid out for the castle guest were platters of different dishes for him to pick off as he wished, the overall high point of the blue-haired man's trip so far, but in front of Dracula there was only a single glass of red wine.

"You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join but I have already dined and I never drink... wine," the Count said cordially, circling a black-nailed fingertip along his chalice's rim. Chewing a mouthful of steak, Grimmjow merely nodded in reply, his eyes drifting over to the massive painting hanging on the wall beside them.

"An ancestor?" he asked regarding the man depicted in the portrait who was practically identical to his living descendant. "I see a resemblance."

Dracula rose from the table, gliding across the floor closer to the painting and where the other man was seated. Gesturing airily toward the long dead relative in the piece of art, he began wistfully speaking of something that must be connected somehow. "The Order of the Dracul... the Dragon. ..an ancient society pledging my forefathers to defend the church against all enemies of Christ," he said, clenching his raised hand into a fist. "That relationship was not entirely successful."

"Ah, I see," Grimmjow said, mirth unsuccessfully repressed and subsequently audible.

In the blink of an eye, the Count drew a medieval sword from the mantle below the painting and swung around to thrust it forward until the sharply pointed tip was inches from the other man's face. "It is no laughing matter! We Draculs have a right to be proud. What devil or witch was ever so great as Attila whose blood flows in these veins?" Dracula hissed venomously. Then he visibly relaxed, withdrawing his weapon and turning to gingerly place it back on the mantle. "Blood is too precious a thing in these times. The warlike days are over. The victories of my great race are but a tale to be told. I am the last of my kind..." he trailed off, seemingly lost in his memories.

Reminding himself of the money on the line, the money he would use to run away to the countryside so he and Ichigo could be together, Grimmjow swallowed down the anger coursing through him at being threatened and subsequently his pride. "I have offended you with my ignorance, Count," he said stiffly. "Forgive me."

Dracula just smiled.

...

Later

The Library at Castle Dracula

...

Grimmjow watched as the Count affixed his bright red wax seal on the deed of purchase they'd drawn up together after hours of negotiation from where he was seated at a desk littered with piles of parchment and books, the other standing to his right.

Satisfied that could now be checked off his list, the blunette lifted the seal over a candle's open flame and melting the wax in order to completely adhere it to the parchment. He absentmindedly noticed Dracula walking past his chair to where an extensive map of London was pinned on the wall.

"I do so long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and the rush of humanity, to share its life, its changes, its deaths..." the white-haired Count began another one of his wistful ramblings, Grimmjow barely paying attention as he scrawled his signature on the deed.

"There," he said, the following pleasantries monotonous and dry. "You, Count, are now the owner of Carfax Abbey in Purfleet. Congratulations."

"Your firm writes most highly of your talents. They say you are... a man of good taste," Dracula mused, still facing the map.

"I just know how to do my job," Grimmjow muttered, his mind preoccupied wondering about something he couldn't hold his tongue about any longer. "Forgive my curiosity, but why ten houses in such precise locations around London? Is it to raise market value?"

Eyes focused upon the smaller map these ten houses were clearly marked, the man never noticed the lily-white hands snatching the precious keepsake from where he'd placed it upon the desk as a visual reminder of why he'd taken this job and must see it through to the end. Pale fingers tipped with ebony nails clutched it desperately out of its owner's line of vision and flipped it open, a silent, breathless gasp forming from the all-consuming heavenly agony at the terrifyingly beautiful sight revealed. The stolen keepsake was crushed to a silk robed chest, right above a heart that felt alive after centuries of undeath.

"Do you believe in destiny, that even the powers of time can be ordered to a single purpose?" the Count uttered reverently, turning back around holding the photograph in plain sight. "The luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds true love."

"You found Ichigo, I see," Grimmjow said, not particularly fond of his lover's image in another's hands and vulnerable to judgement.

"You need not fear condemnation from me, I believe love transcends... everything," Dracula said softly, the blue-haired man catching the implied 'gender' included in the other's definition of 'everything.'

"Do you speak from experience?" he asked keenly.

"That I do, Mr. Jaegerjaques, that I do... But he died long ago..." the ivory-skinned noble trailed off, returning his guest's possession upon the desk surface, now closed shut.

"I'm sorry," Grimmjow replied as one should after hearing of another's beloved's demise.

"He was fortunate. My life at best is a mystery," the Count said, switching to a more professional persona immediately after. "Come, write now, my friend, to your firm and to any loved ones and say that it should please you to stay a fortnight longer than originally intended."

"You expect me to stay so long?" Grimmjow snapped, bristling at being ordered to stay like a dog. Gold on black eyes swivelled to gaze at him, glittering knowingly in a way he automatically didn't trust.

"I will take no refusal," was his answer.

...

LONDON

Five Days Later

Morning

The Parlour at the Kurosaki Estate

...

Ichigo was worried.

Currently he was in his home's lavish parlour, the prized jewel of the manor it was admittedly magnificent. At the eastern end of the house, all of its walls and the roof were made from glass and Italian marble flooring the two platforms of the room. Furniture displaying the trends the height of Victorian style, exotic birds in large cages, and potted plants imported from around the globe decorated the entire space.

Ichigo was in an armchair on the second platform and right beside the wall in the far left corner, one leg dangling over a plush armrest and the other tucked underneath him. In his hands and on his lap were envelopes and pages filled with elegant script that made up his entire collection of letters from Grimmjow since the man left. A single one for every day he was gone, that was what he promised that morning in the garden and anyone who knew him could say with absolute certainty that he was a man of his word.

Three weeks had passed since his departure for Romania, twenty one days and therefore a vowed delivery of twenty one letters sent for Ichigo to read. But as of today's post, the orangette had received a grand total of seven letters -five for the days on the train and a measly two after that. Ichigo wasn't offended as much as he was anxious at the low number of sent letters. It wasn't like Grimmjow to break a promise, not at all, and further troubling him were the tones of the last two messages, especially the most recent one.

Sweetheart,

All is well here in Castle Dracula. I have been working tirelessly with the Count sorting through his affairs and it seems my presence here will be needed longer than expected. I shall be extending my stay by a fortnight. I can say no more except I love you.

Ever faithful,

G.J.

If the handwriting wasn't obviously Grimmjow's own, Ichigo would swear this letter hadn't been written by him at all. There was not a trace of the man he loved anywhere in the message, the terse, bland manner in which it was written couldn't be farther from his usual voice. There wasn't a highly suggestive double entendre nor a single attempt to make him laugh and Grimmjow never wrote in any of his letters those three little words in the last sentence. It was only once in a blue moon he said them out loud, always preferring to express the sentiment in actions Ichigo learned to recognize as the man's way to show he cared.

Something was amiss at this Castle Dracula. That he knew.

...

LONDON

Meanwhile

Castle Dracula

Guest Bedchamber

...

A half hour earlier, Grimmjow's instincts were impossible to ignore any longer. He knew there was something beyond his understanding of the world happening at Castle Dracula, something with wicked intentions.

He had torn through everything inside his suitcase, stopping once he found the miniature drawstring purse he'd inherited from his mother when she passed away years ago that out of habit he brought with him on all of his travels. Contained within was her wedding ring, a pair of his also deceased father's cufflinks, and what he was looking for - his mother's papally blessed gold crucifix pendant dangling on a thin chain. Grimmjow was far from a devout follower of any religion but desperate times called for desperate measure and so he'd fastened the crucifix around his neck.

Now he was taking advantage of his spare time in which he wasn't obeying the Count's instructions that were never-ending, utilizing all of the blunette's talents and official authorities to create document after document, and was shaving days' worth of stubble on his jawline. His sleeves folded above his forearms, Grimmjow stood at the room's sink above which hung a dingy mirror. He was only halfway done when he received an unwanted visitor heralded by the door closing with a dull thud.

The sound taking him by surprise, his hand slipped an inch and the razor sliced a thin cut right over his Adam's apple. Scowling so that his lip curled up one side, the Englishman looked over his shoulder and saw Dracula standing across the room, smiling cordially per usual. "I didn't hear you come in," Grimmjow said, an accusatory, suspicious undertone to his words.

"Be careful how you cut yourself," the snowy-skinned man said almost playfully whilst he seemingly floated closer, ignoring the other's statement completely. "It is... more dangerous than you think."

In a bizarre turn of events, Grimmjow decided not to respond and again faced the mirror only for seconds later it to suddenly shatter, jagged cracks splintering the glass. Lowering the arm he impulsively shielded his face with, he heard the airy chuckle of the Count close to his ear.

"A foul bauble of man's vanity. Perhaps you should grow a beard," Dracula dismissed the oddity lightly. "The letters I requested - have you finished them?" Suppressing a swell of ever increasing hatred for his gracious host, Grimmjow snatched the three unsealed envelopes off the sink counter and wordlessly held them out to the alabaster-skinned man behind him. "Good."

His posture rigid, the blunette waited for the Count to make his exit and leave him be but the latter merely walked a few feet at the most and then decided to continue speaking accented yet perfect English. "Should you leave these rooms, you will not by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle," he said carefully, pacing around Grimmjow as if the man were his prey. " It is old and has many bad memories. Be warned."

Hearing the thinly veiled threat, the castle guest roughly ground his teeth together. "I'm sure I understand," he spat, no longer attempting to hide his contempt for the white-haired of the two. Dracula stepped closer, intent not exactly clear but definitely not anything good. However, his exotic pair of eyes landed on the newly acquired crucifix around Grimmjow's throat and narrowed into slits, a snarl escaping his throat as he recoiled vehemently.

"Do not put your faith in such trinkets of deceit!" he screeched distortedly, his attractive features twisting in an expression of disgust. "We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways. And, to you, there shall be many strange things."

"I've seen many strange things already," Grimmjow growled, realizing his instincts that something evil lurked here but far from afraid, his anger overriding everything else totally. "Bloody wolves chasing me through some blue inferno!" As if they heard him mention them, a chorus of howls pierced the night air and the man snapped his head in the direction of the room's window, spying a pack of wolves tilting their heads to the moon.

"Listen to them, the children of the night," Dracula cried joyously, sounding positively demonic. "What sweet music they make!"

Grimmjow looked away from the window to see his room was completely empty besides him, snarling like one of the wolves below him. Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his primitive senses picking up danger nearby and spurring him to return his gaze outside the window. Eyes widening, he was stricken at what ungodly vision awaited him - the upside down figure of the Count inhumanly scaling down the opposite wall, crawling like an animal, blood red and golden robes billowing in the wind.

...

Later That Night

Somewhere in Castle Dracula

...

The letters Grimmjow had written as instructed by his inhuman host have undoubtedly sealed his doom. Anyone who read them would assume that he was safe and sound in Transylvania, working for the Count and not planning on returning to England any time soon.

He knew Ichigo would see something wasn't quite right from his letters yet he prayed the boy wouldn't take drastic action to find out what that something was, his worst fear his beloved boarding a train to the Carpathians to find him and falling prey to the evil creature Dracula truly was. No, if there was a God let Him be merciful and keep Ichigo far, far away from the pale being that masqueraded as a man.

But this didn't mean Grimmjow was going to sit idle in the room now revealed to be his prison cell and wait for the Count to do whatever atrocities planned for him. It would be a cold day in Hell he stopped trying to get back to his dearest orangette and as they said, there was no time like the present. So, the blunette had slipped out of his room unnoticed and since then had been attempting to navigate a route of escape out of the dilapidated castle.

Currently, he was somewhere on the first floor, the arched windows lining one side of the corridor looking directly out to the endless, dark forest bordering the whole stone structure. He surmised that his only clear path was the same through which he'd arrived and yet that wasn't much help considering his odds of making it to civilization alive were slim to none, the bitterly cold climate and lack of food and water just two potential killers.

Just then the noise of hammers pounding against wood reached his ears, causing him to flatten himself against the wall and ever so cautiously approach where the sounds were coming from. Reaching the wall's end, he peered around the corner into what once was a garden in the center of the castle grounds but was now littered with dozens of crates, some stacked aside in piles while the rest were being filled by gypsy men pouring dirt into them. Frowning in confusion, Grimmjow squinted to read what was stamped onto the closed crates, appalled to find they were addressed for delivery to the Count's newly acquired Carfax Abbey in London. Fury roiling in his gut at being involved in the purchase of that very locale, he concluded that if he didn't get to the city and warn of the approaching demon and above all else make sure Ichigo was safe then no one could.

His resolve strengthened, Grimmjow happened to spot where off in the distance the gypsies had tethered their mounts and flashed a pleased, wolfish grin.

Minutes later Dracula's brainless servants didn't even notice the man riding off with one of their horses. For miles he rode hard and fast through the black forest, beginning to think he was headed in the wrong direction when the hour of dawn brought a beacon of light in the form of the outlines of a modest building appearing through the trees.

The sisters of the secluded St. Agatha's convent were startled when their door burst open and the hulking figure of a man suffering from hypothermia and weakened from days of malnourishment staggered across the threshold during their early morning prayers and promptly fell unconscious.

...

LONDON

Six Days Later

Midnight

Aboard the Demeter

...

Count Shirosaki Dracula stood at the ship's bow fearlessly in the destructive, tempestuous storm, powerful gusts of wind whipping his long, ghostly white tresses about. Underneath the vessel the sea roiled violently, waves crashing against the wall and hurling frothy sprays up around him. Rain plummeted from the heavens without mercy, his inhuman, all-seeing eyes gazing past the icy curtain to the stretch of land in the distance. He mentally crooned joyously to recognize the British shores after his journey across Europe.

His crimson stained mouth curved into a thrilled smile, clutching the wooden railing tighter in ashen, black-nailed hands. This was what he ached for stronger even than he thirsted for life-giving liquid for wretched, cursed lifetimes, to once again behold the face that eternally haunted him warm and flushed with an earthbound soul and caress that tempting flesh that was smoother than satin to the touch.

Upon landing he would direct the gypsies who accompanied him on the journey from Transylvania to move his sacred crates of earth that he needed to rest within into his new property at Carfax Abbey. Then he would wait for when his dearest was completely alone and he would seize his chance and remind the beauty of their unbreakable bond.

Finally after all these countless years apart he would be reunited with the love of his immortal existence.

...

LONDON

Two Days Later

Morning

The Parlour at the Kurosaki Estate

...

Ichigo irritatedly flung the day's newspaper onto the floor, the headline detailing the mystery of the ship Demeter washing ashore English beaches completely empty of any living soul not distracting him from his persistent anxiety.

After receiving a letter fairly the same as the one before it from Grimmjow, he knew without a doubt something wasn't right with his lover in the eastern mountain ranges of Romania and it was torture not knowing exactly what. Worry and fear physically made him ill, his appetite nonexistent and sleep elusive and riddled with nightmares. It was excruciating not being able to do anything beside write letter after letter to the man.

"I wanted to read that as well, you know."

Removing the arm flung across his face as he reclined in the parlour's chaise longue, he looked over to where his eldest brother, Mugetsu, bent over to pick the discarded newspaper off of the floor. Twelve year older than Ichigo, he had similar facial features but boasted jet black hair to the middle of his back and burgundy-coloured eyes and was by far the most serious and even-keeled of the four Kurosaki men.

They weren't alone in the parlour at that moment, their two brothers also seated in the room. The second eldest, Kaien, was flipping through a book the others knew he was only skimming. He had hair the same sleek black as Mugetsu except his only reached the nape of his neck and he was the sole of the four to have aquamarine eyes, his personality much less reserved than the older man as well. And then the third in line presently at the piano playing melodies he made up on the spot was Kon, who had almost identical colouring to Ichigo except his hair was a shade or two a darker orange and they couldn't ever be mistaken for one another when they were practically polar opposites, the younger preferring to scowl in silence whereas his sibling was known to talk incessantly.

In response to his eldest brother, Ichigo threw his forearm back over his face and mumbled unintelligibly earning a chuckle from Kaien and a sigh from Mugetsu.

"Ichigo, I realize you are worried for Grimmjow but that is no reason to continue moping around pitifully," the oldest Kurosaki said sternly, practised in playing a parental role for the other three. "You need to distract yourself for at least a little while. Go into the city and walk around a bit, it'll do you good."

"I do not want to go into the city," Ichigo grumbled childishly.

"Would you prefer it if Kon went with you?" Kaien piped in, smirking triumphantly as the orangette sat straight up and aforementioned brother looked up eagerly from the piano keys.

"No, that's all right. I should probably go alone," Ichigo said hurriedly, rising to his feet as he accepted he would be taking the inevitable trip into the bustling streets of London whether he wanted to or not and began walking out of the parlour.

"Return home before four o'clock," Mugetsu called after him and the teenager made a face at being treated like he wasn't a grown man who was quite capable of taking care of himself.

Though nowhere near in a mood to wander aimlessly through the urban crowds, Ichigo hoped his brother was right about his venture outside being the distraction he so desperately needed after weeks of torment fearing the worst for his blue-haired lover. London was full of surprises, after all.

...

LONDON

Later That Afternoon

The Streets of London

...

A few hours later that day and Ichigo had not forgotten his worries for a single moment since he first set out from his family's manor. Instead all he managed to discover within the streets of London were memories of times spent here and there with the man he longed to see again, making his emotional agony all the more unbearable.

In the middle of the street a newsboy cried out more breaking news of a string of strange events, the most recent a white wolf's escape from the city zoo and was still at large. Walking down the sidewalk, Ichigo spotted a sign for a pharmacy shop and deciding he may try his luck somewhere he'd never been to with Grimmjow, turned to the right and wandered inside the store.

He was entirely oblivious to the hungry stare aimed directly at him from across the street where it originated in the swirling depths of gold on black eyes. They belonged to an unnaturally pale man with white tresses curling over his shoulders and caught the afternoon sun, glittering like moonlight. Dressed in an expensive ensemble the height of Victorian fashion in varied shades of grey, a stylish top hat atop his ivory head of hair, a pair of round, tinted sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and an exquisitely carved cane in hand, he made for a debonair image.

"See me," he whispered. "See me now."

Crossing the street, the man stepped up to the sidewalk in front of the pharmacy with perfect timing to bump as if accidentally into Ichigo as he exited the store. Dark amber orbs rose to meet his, immediately widening and brightening, unexpectedly dazzled by the stranger's unique allure.

"My humblest apologies. Forgive my ignorance; I have recently arrived from abroad and I do not know your city. Is a beautiful native..." the snowy skinned male said in a charming Eastern European accent. Ichigo didn't know what this handsome foreigner was thinking calling him, another man, beautiful in the middle of the street in broad daylight but he wanted no part of it.

"You can purchase a street atlas for six pence. Good day," the orangette said brusquely, moving to brush past but barely stepping once when the stranger spoke again.

"I have offended you. I am only looking for the cinematograph. I understand it is a wonder of the civilized world."

"If you seek culture, then visit a museum. London is filled with them. Excuse me."

The exotic man again stopped Ichigo from walking away, standing his ground in front of the youth and speaking once more in an effort to engage the other. "Someone so lovely and intelligent should not be walking the streets of London alone," he said, this time flustering the boy enough for a rosy flush to tint that perfectly sun-kissed skin.

"I do not know how polite society works where you are from but saying such bold things is not considered flattery," Ichigo snapped, hoping no one around them was listening to their conversation. "Now leave me be or else I shall call for the police."

The stranger pulled his top hat off his head and against his chest, bowing his head humbly in apology. "I shall bother you no more," he said, thoroughly chastised and for some reason a wave of guilt washed over the orangette, something about this man tugging at his heartstrings as the other began to turn away.

"Sir, it is I who have been rude," Ichigo called remorsefully, reaching out a hand toward the pale stranger but not touching him. "If you're looking for-"

"Please, permit me to introduce myself. I am Prince Shirosaki of Szekely."

"A prince, no less?" the teenager said, visibly stunned at the revelation from his raised brows and parted lips that the foreign dignitary found incredibly endearing.

"I am your servant," the prince said softly, gazing over his sunglasses as he inclined his head and returned his top hat to his head. Ichigo was clueless what to say to that and so skipped a response to return the favour.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," he said, deciding that in spite of his forwardness he thought this Prince Shirosaki was rather charming and utterly unique. Seeing how his intention for his trip to the city couldn't entirely be brought to fruition, Grimmjow's presence lingering around him like a ghost, he may as well offer a bit of kindness and guidance to someone who was in need of his help.

"I am honoured, Ichigo..." the prince murmured almost reverently but maintaining his dignified air. Ichigo gestured behind the other and down the sidewalk to where the entrance for the cinematograph theatre was located, making his decision rather easily.

"This way," he said, leading his new acquaintance in that direction and feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

...

After the passing of an hour, Ichigo and Prince Shirosaki were still standing inside the dimly-lit theatre watching the grainy black and white film of a man on a unicycle. Despite only knowing the pale prince for such a brief period of time, the orange-haired youth felt at ease in his company, as if they were old friends. It was at the same extremely unsettling, especially when his mind thought of Grimmjow.

How could he possibly be indulging in such trivial pastimes whilst halfway across the continent the man he loved could very well be in great peril? He shouldn't be having a pleasant time with another man, he shouldn't be there at all.

"Astounding!" Shirosaki exclaimed under his breath. "There are no limits to science."

"How can you call this science? I'm sure Madam Curie would not invite such comparisons. Really!" Ichigo's voice quavered as he spoke, betraying his conflicting emotions. "I shouldn't have come here. I must go." He whirled away from the magnetic aura the prince emanated and started to rush toward the exit but a strong hand grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving.

The unexpected touch sent a jolt of painful pleasure through him, leaving him breathless. He felt so strange and increasingly faint as Shirosaki forced him back around to meet those eyes that burned like rings of fire in the night sky. "Do not fear me," the prince ordered, making Ichigo do the exact opposite and grow increasingly more afraid of the man, even more so when he was pushed by an inhuman strength into one of the theatre's curtained private rooms.

Struggling uselessly, the youth was shoved onto his back on a couch to lie underneath the bent form of Shirosaki. "Stop this! Stop!" he attempted to shout authoritatively but was ashamed when his voice came out shaky andweak.

And then suddenly everything seemed to stop as Shirosaki began murmuring soothing words in a language Ichigo didn't recognize yet somehow understood perfectly. It was the most powerful sensation of deja vu he ever had and he didn't know what was happening to him.

Reality faded away, a murky, dull light flickering within his mind and vaguely illuminating a blurred, grayscale landscape he had seen before. Then color seared blindingly, visions of stone towers and tree-covered mountains and falling snow dancing through his mind until they dropped off the face of the earth, dead and he was standing on a cliff above a rushing river and the sun warmed his face and made everything glimmer and it was if the sweet air carried music to his ears and he wished it would never end. Then someone called his name like an enchanted melody and turning him 'round and he was admiring a face unlike any other. Skin the purest white like the wings of an angel and hair woven from starlight and calla lilies and beatifically virile features carved from the finest ivory and eyes painted endlessly black as night and brazenly gold as fire.

Those eyes, he knew those eyes. They had haunted his dreams forever. He knew those eyes... loved him.

"God, who are you?" he gasped. "I... I know you."

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you," Shirosaki husked sensually, gazing heatedly at the terrified and yet awed visage gloriously his to look upon once again. Ichigo let his eyelids flutter closed and the prince lowered his mouth to the teen's throat, right above the pulse point beating erratically - music to his ears. The ivory-haired male allowed his canines to lengthen, the temptation to sink them into that lovely neck so terribly potent yet it did not overwhelm him and he resisted the impulse by tearing himself away.

Across the translucent curtains leapt the shadow of a four-legged creature and the trance cast over Ichigo was broken once frightened screams erupted within the theatre, spurring him to rise from the couch and run from the curtained room into the crowd of patrons fleeing the theatre to escape the unknown danger. Unsure which way to go, he ran through the opening of the canvas screens and then another. However, he halted dead in his tracks when the route brought him face to face with a snarling white wolf, the one who escaped from the zoo.

Careful to neither move nor make a sound, Ichigo was frozen to the spot and surely about to be attacked by the wolf until a silvery voice spoke a few words in that same language he couldn't place yet instinctively knew. Ten feet from the savage wolf, Shirosaki commanded the animal to heel and come to him. Ichigo was astonished at how readily the wild canine obeyed the prince, becoming no more than a docile pup that sat at attention before the man's kneeling form.

Why was this foreign prince so mysteriously more than any other man? Why did Ichigo feel like he remembered him from not fully realized memories of a past he never knew of 'till now?

Shirosaki stroked a gloved hand through the fur the same alabaster as his skin, looking up to Ichigo and beckoning him forward. "Come here, Ichigo," he said and the younger male found himself doing so, reaching out to pet the wolf as well. "He likes you. There is much to be learned from beasts."

Ichigo wanted to argue it was recently discovered man evolved from beast. They couldn't possibly learn from anything from something so savage and primal. Unless they wished to turn into a beast themselves.

But what was it that could turn a man into a beast?

...

My absent, silent, vanished, dearest Grimmjow,

I fear I am losing my mind without you. This is no exaggeration, either. I worry whether you are safe or not every waking moment and then in my dreams. I don't even know if you are even alive. I have to trust I would feel it in my soul if yours left mine alone.

My life - the world -is different when you are not in it. The past few days have been bizarre beyond belief. I still question whether I have lived such strange events, it's driving me mad. I often believe I don't even know who I am anymore. Please, I beseech you, if you are able return to London as soon as possible and help me make sense of the world again.

I know what I have written in this letter isn't like me at all. Ever since birth I have lived fearlessly and obstinately and arrogantly and recklessly, so brave and even more foolish - a cruel irony to bear as a scholar. I believe this is proof of how desperate I am to hold you in my arms and know you are well and still the man I love more than anything else, more than my own life. I know not what shall be my end. All I know is that it nears ever closer without you.

Perhaps I really am slipping into insanity. That would actually be a relief to know that was the reason for all of this, a scientific, factual explanation. I have never believed in the supernatural forces of this earth yet of them I first feel true terror. May God forgive my years of skepticism as I call upon Him for mercy praying this reaches you.

Come back to me.

Your sweetheart,

Ichigo

...

LONDON

Several Days Later

Early Evening

A Private Table at a Restaurant

...

He swore he would never see that man again. Truly, he did. He never even expected to have the opportunity. Yet, Ichigo's oath was broken almost humorously fast, if it weren't for how shameful why and whom he broke it for.

That morning whilst he sat in the manor's study working on one of his countless attempts to return to his studies and failing miserably due to his wandering mind, he was distracted by a servant delivering a letter addressed to the youngest Kurosaki. Heart stopping in anticipation, he practically ripped it open, begging for it to be from Grimmjow. Within seconds he experienced agonizing disappointment seeing that it was not as he wished.

But it was a surprise he dared not admit as pleasant, no one could know that already he loved the piece of inked parchment. Dismissing the servant, Ichigo curled upon his chair and carefully read every word.

To my dearest, newly found friend Ichigo,

For every moment after our time together three days past, I have desired no other earthly nor heavenly concept then delighting in your enchanting presence once again. By far you are the most intriguing creature I have ever met and your charming company I know of no equal. My greatest hope is you feel as I do and share in my wish to partake in more urban pleasures together.

I should be overwhelmingly honoured if you will agree to dine with me this evening. Honesty compels me to say should you graciously accept my invitation you would bring a lonely prince much happiness. I eagerly await your reply, dearest friend.

Your servant,

S.

Perhaps if one read that letter they may understand why Ichigo was now sitting at a private table in a secluded room, the knowledge that he shouldn't be there shamefully exciting. Not a soul aside from he and the prince knew of his whereabouts, for he had escaped the manor unnoticed by any of his brothers, not wanting to explain where and why he was going into the city that night. A coach sent by his prince brought him to the restaurant, their meeting place, and then he was led to a room private from the main dining hall, to the prince.

And this was what they had done every night since.

Encompassed by luxury, gold and silver and silk adorning the warmly, dimly lit venue, Ichigo was more unlike himself than ever. He even wore a satin, damask-striped crimson waistcoat over his loosely-fitted, ivory shirt and black formal trousers, the three all contrasting boldly against each other. The prince dressed rather differently in the fashions of his homeland, his shirt better described as an ebony tunic, metallic gold embroidery sewn like four leaved vines curving in at the waist and then out to cover broad shoulders and a collar ensconcing his entire neck.

This time, Ichigo blatantly stared at Shirosaki, who illustrated a wild fantasy glowing like the full moon while he donned his opposite black in the dusky atmosphere. His long, snowy hair was magnificent spread over his shoulders and chest, the translucent screen to the right casting shadows of dancing lovers fluttering over the prince's exquisite face. Was it possible the flawless, perfect whiteness of his skin could ever so faintly shimmer? Ichigo absentmindedly thought it was as if he, a mortal, dined with a pagan lunar god.

Shirosaki felt much the same, adoring the luscious red on the teen. Oh, how many lusty, longing, lovely dreams had he suffered of his beloved wearing red - the color of life. He was undeserving to be blessed as he was. He leaned forward to elegantly grasp a glass bottle laid on the table, pouring emerald liquid into a pitcher of ice.

"A drink before dinner, if it pleases you," he said, lips tilting in a polite smile.

Ichigo lowered his eyes to look curiously at the bottle, he never knew a time when such drink was offered but there was definitely something he should remember about the green liquor... "Prince-," he started.

"Please, forgive me, dearest Ichigo, but it would please me greatly to be called Shiro and... from your lips hear the sound," the prince said, setting down the bottle and bringing attention to dragon head shaped ring on his right hand. The youth's mouth betrayed a hint of a bashful, flattered smile before he bit his bottom lip. "I mean you no offence, but are you unfamiliar with, ah - as they call it here in England - 'the green fairy'?"

"I, um... I beg your pardon?" Ichigo stammered, cheekbones and the bridge of his nose blooming with a blush, the rosy hue an affect of blood rushing to the skin. The other male nearly shivered at the sight.

"Such a gem you are, to know naught of worldly vices, so innocent, so... untouched..." Shirosaki murmured contentedly, satisfied to know no matter how many millennia passed some things never changed and stayed pure and good. A flash of blue crossing his thoughts, he suppressed fury at the reminder not all remained the same. "Absinthe, my child. Would you care for a first taste?"

"I suppose I would like that," Ichigo said softly, watching the other's ashen hands with their black nails plucked an ice cube tinted from the drink as if it were a blackberry and proffered it to him. He bent forward over the table so that his mouth and the ice cube were an inch apart. In a thoughtless moment he allowed for Shirosaki to place the ice upon his lips and an instant after realized his actions, jerked away, arching back into his chair.

"Absinthe is the aphrodisiac of the soul," the prince told him, looking at the orangette sucking on the strangely-flavored ice while he spilled the diluted liquor now a greenish-yellow out of the pitcher, filling two glasses a fourth of the way. "The Green Fury who lives in the absinthe wants your soul.  
But you are safe with me."

Continuing to suck the ice and its curious taste as it melted on his tongue, Ichigo felt safe, and warm and so... light. He readily accepted the glass Shirosaki presented to him. Manners below from where he floated so high above, he rested his elbows on the table and sipped the chilled absinthe dreamily. He wasn't even in London anymore but some place far away. Smoldering, hooded eyes bored into the white-haired prince who had long missed those sultry, sparkling pools to which no other pair could hold a candle.

"Tell me, Shiro," Ichigo said softly, his lips forming the name's sound easily, as if he uttered it often. "Tell me of your home."

"The most beautiful place in all creation," Shirosaki said reverently and it was all the youth needed to hear, thinking of what that place must look like, where nature would touch the soul with its wild purity. Ichigo gently fell back from the table, resting his head against the back of his chair and let himself see illusions of such a place.

"Yes, it must be," he sighed. "A land beyond a great, vast forest surrounded by majestic mountains, lush vineyards, and flowers of such frailty and beauty as to be found nowhere else..."Shirosaki clutched the arms of his chair tightly, not hazarding the crushing blow to his heart full of hope that the visions Ichigo spoke were effects of the absinthe, a cruel trick, not... not what he couldn't even bear to think. Standing, he cast himself to kneel beside the tranced beauty, wholly enraptured.

"You describe my home as if you had seen it firsthand," he said, longing to brush his hand through those golden tangerine strands when Ichigo turned his head, dark amber orbs sparkling down at him. Shirosaki hummed in pleasure as a warm hand touched his cool face lightly.

"It's your voice, perhaps. It's so familiar," the orange-haired male breathed airily. The present was lost to him, his mind lulling within an otherworldly place he did not know to be real or imaginary. "It's like a...it's like a voice in a dream I cannot place, and it comforts me when I am alone." That was truth, for being with Shiro he could escape from the torturous reality of Grimmjow's absence, the loneliness no longer tore him apart. "And what of the other prince?"

"Other prince?" Shirosaki whispered, feeling so cold when Ichigo suddenly rose and ambled over to face the curtains across which still flitted silhouettes of dancers. The latter looked straight through them to glimpses of two figures, one night and one day.

"Yes, there is another prince," he said, choking up with tears. He was so sad, sadder than ever before, and it confused him. Sensing the sorrow surrounding the boy's aura, Shirosaki made his way over to stand behind him. "He is the one dressed in white, white silk that sinks in the river. He... is the river, he sleeps within its waters and he... he looks just like the sun... just like me."

So close to Ichigo hairs of honey blossom feathered across his chin and jawline, he shut his eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of sunshine still there after all this time. "There was once another prince, long ago. So handsome and brave, he was the most stunning sight in all the empires of the world, more radiant than the sun itself. Man's deceit took him away from his beloved. He leapt to his death into the river that you spoke of. Looks and spirit and heart, yes, you are just like him."

Ichigo didn't know his tears had fallen and he angled his head back to share an intense, intimate stare with Shirosaki, the other's snow-skinned, black-nailed hand coming an inch away from his face, swiftly clasping his hand closed. It opened carefully to show Ichigo's teardrops turned into crystals, again altering his sadness to beauty.

...

LONDON

Next Day

Morning

The Parlour at the Kurosaki Estate

...

The three eldest Kurosaki men were arguing over a matter regarding the previous night, the two middle brothers, and a couple of nobleman's daughters when the youngest of their brood wandered in. Three pairs of wide eyes snapped to Ichigo, who in any mood stalks about scowling broodingly, traipsing through the parlour, pausing here and there, a contemplative expression. After weeks of his worsened moodiness and temper, undeniably understandably so, this sudden, unexplained change was flabbergasting. When he finally noticed them all staring at him, he stopped.

"Would we happen to have any Eastern European history volumes? I already checked in the library."

Neither of the three said anything for a long moment, Kon starting with "What the he-mmph!", his words no longer intelligible with Kaien's hand covering his mouth. Aside from quirking an eyebrow, Ichigo made no comment on it.

"If you wish to read such texts, I shall send away for a few to be delivered to you, Ichigo," Mugetsu said, not wanting to question his brother's odd behavior for fear of ruining it. "Why does the subject suddenly intrigue you, if I may ask?"

"Oh, well... I met someone from the area the other day and I... uh, I thought it may be interesting," the orangette mumbled, shifting his feet a bit uncomfortably. "Has the post arrived this morning?" Ichigo, of course, had asked this questions every morning for a while now.

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Mugetsu said, burgundy eyes tinging with sympathy. He stood from the low-backed couch he sat opposite Kon and Kaien, whose hand was still firmly clasped over the other's mouth. "Well, I have some business in need of my attention so I shall see the three of you at supper. While I am gone," he paused to stare down the two still seated. "I know you and you shall be writing letters of apology and cleaning the mess you two buffoons made in the kitchens. And you shall not dare persuade a single person in any fashion under any circumstances clean it for you. Are we at an understanding?"

Kaien and Kon slumped in their seats on another low-backed couch, the former removing his hand, folded their arms and glared resentfully at the floor instead of their brother. They grumbled agreements bitterly to satisfy Mugetsu who sighed and shook his head before addressing Ichigo. "Keep an eye on them, will you?" he said, approaching closer and laying a hand on the other's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I am happy you seem better today. I know how you've endured these difficult past few weeks. I'm proud of you, baby brother."

Ichigo would normally roll his eyes and say something sarcastic or smart to hide how touched he was by something like that, but that morning he just nodded. Mugetsu frowned, though saying nothing else preceding his hasty departure out of the parlour. Immediately following his exit, the other two scoffed loudly.

"Who does he think he is? The King? He cannot tell us what we can or cannot or have to do," Kaien shouted, rising to his feet and throwing his arms in the air.

"Yes, or who to do," Kon agreed, following suit to stand, grinning lecherously and then facing their younger sibling. "Ichigo, you should have been there last night, the bosom this one-"

"You idiot, Kon," Kaien snapped, slapping the other's arm and causing his expression turn to one of shock 'till the dark-haired man jerked his head in Ichigo's direction so that understanding dawned on the other.

"Ohhh, that's right. Forget what I said about... female anatomy," Kon apologized, somewhat. "And you should definitely never visit with Lord Oldham if his daughters are there. Wouldn't you agree, brother?" He and Kaien shared a knowing look, chuckling heartily at whatever was so funny to them. Ichigo huffed, figuring some men never grew up, and walked down to the next platform, flopping onto his favorite armchair. It was not thirty seconds later that the two men left, a new round of guffaws sounding as they exited the parlour and he was alone, as always.

Resting his head on the back of the chair and staring out the window, Ichigo cringed as his headache throbbed exceptionally hard and screwed his eyes shut against the sunlight.

He never remembered going to sleep when approximately an hour later, the noise of a cough woke him. Blinking blearily and swivelling his head toward his center Ichigo saw one of the manor's butlers holding a silver tray on one hand, too high for him to view what lay upon it.

"Forgive me, sir. A letter just arrived for you from Europe - my apologies for waking you but I thought it might be prudent considering your instructions to deliver all mail promptly," the man said nervously, as if he would be fired and thrown out of the manor for this. Which wasn't very likely as Ichigo had given those same instructions to the staff. However, certain this letter would not be the one, the teen clumsily snatched the envelope off the platter and the butler took off before he could be thanked.

Curled up in the armchair, Ichigo flipped the envelope to the right side seeing multiple postal stamps covering the original sender's address. Not daring to hope, he monotonously broke the wax seal and unfurled the parchment inside. It wouldn't be that which he desired so why bother becoming excited it may be that when he knew it wasn't.

But it was.

Dear Sir,

It was your close friend Mister Jaegerjaques' request I send a letter informing you all of what he wishes you be told. First, know that he was safe and in the care of the good sisters of the  
blessed sacrament from yesterday at sunrise, frozen and hungry, until his full recovery this morning. He believes you could be in terrible danger and therefore plans to return to England soon as he is able. If all goes well, he should arrive in London seven days from today's date. Knowing him not a full day, still I have faith he shall persevere and return to you as he promised. He makes quite an impression.

Yours with all blessings,

Sister Agatha

Five minutes he reread the letter over and over. His heart had stopped, his lungs turned lead, his throat constricted, and his eyes burned. Eventually, watery droplets began to appear on the parchment and Ichigo realized they were his tears.

Crying twice in as many days... what was happening to him?

It didn't matter. He didn't care.

His euphoria was dampened when he remembered that something was different in his life since his lover had left. Something that couldn't remain once they were together again. Something he had to end. Knowing there was no other way, his tears slowed and then stopped, the task at hand requiring a steady hand and steel will. It would be hard, yes, but soon the unstable chaos of the past several weeks would be set right again. Everything was going to be okay.

Grimmjow was coming home.

...

My dear prince - Shiro,

Time is no measure for the depth of a friendship and yours has been fathomless. I want you to know you saved me for without you I would have succumbed to despair . No words could express how grateful I am to be fortunate enough to have found you when I needed a friend more than ever.

It pains me to confess that I can no longer see you. My beloved returns to England tomorrow and I plan to spend the rest of my life with them. Though what little, chaste time we spent together I care for you too much already. No one can ever know of us.

Goodbye,

Ichigo

Anunnatural yet very human howl of despair echoed throughout all of London that night.

...

LONDON

Later That Night

Ichigo's Bedroom at the Kurosaki Estate

...

The bedroom of the youngest Kurosaki was a remarkable display of his family's wealth, spacious and ornamented in the finest decor. In the center of the room, against the wall, was where a grand, lavish bed was situated - a half tester with a low foot and a canopy projecting from the posts at the head, its extravagance furthered by the ivory satin sheets and tasselled curtains, the small mountain of pillows at the head, and its size so large six people could lie with each other easily.

Directly across the room was the reason its owner demanded it be his, the floor to ceiling, glass-paned double doors acting as a portal to the estate's extensive gardens and the curtains were always parted to frame a perfect view of the greenery and blooming flowers. Being able to see outside whenever his wished gave Ichigo a sense of freedom rarely felt by a nobleman in these times, allowing him to sleep peacefully through the night.

Except for this one.

The boy was lying in the very middle of his bed, writhing in the satin sheets and moaning not as if in pain but rather as if intimately engaged with a lover and relishing every second. Then a silvery, lustful voice spoke, calling to him, though there was not another soul in the bedroom.

"Ichigo, come here. Come to me," it whispered lovingly and Ichigo's dark lashes fluttered, his eyes opening halfway and their warm, brandy irises sparkled though he did not see. A soft smile appeared on his lips and he slid from under the satin coverings and out of the bed. Dressed in an off-white, sheer, linen nightshirt, long-sleeved and ankle-length, the enchanted orangette began walking toward the glass doors. "Please, come outside, my love," the voice said gently and the doors flew open, curtains waving like flags in the breeze.

Ichigo stepped outside, his bare feet treading over the half-circle stone set of stairs to the lush grass below. A wind storm on this chilly night cast flurries of leaves through the air and ruffled his nightshirt, rippling and blowing the linen backwards so that it outlined his figure, one sleeve slipping down his shoulder. Ichigo was completely oblivious to it all as he wandered into the emerald maze of the garden, ten foot tall hedges creating paths in every direction.

"Come to me, Ichigo. Follow my voice."

He did, traipsing dreamily past statues and floral scenes to the center of the gardens, his favorite place: the circular clearing where a stone bench sat underneath a stunning, wrought iron archway surrounded by the hedge walls and a radiant, vast array of flowers. There, awaiting him and wearing a smirk, was the one who had beckoned for him to come.

This time the other need not say a word for Ichigo to dash forward and embrace him 'round the neck. They painted a beautiful picture together, one ghostly pale and dressed in black, the other brilliantly colored and dressed in white. "Shiro," the latter said breathlessly, ecstatic they were reunited. "Kiss me."

He was obeyed immediately, cool lips capturing his warm ones and instantly making the lip lock a passionate, fervent one. Ichigo was not disappointed, loving it that his prince tasted him as if his mouth were the most delicious thing on this earth and the carnal sensation thrilled him, as well. Shirosaki hooked a hand under his knee and then the other, wrapping his legs around the man's waist and Ichigo was vaguely aware of being carried to the bench.

Moving his lips away to let the orangette gasp for breath, Shiro continued kissing that sweet face and throat and bending over the bench, lay his beloved on his back, long legs still cinched around his waist. He let some of his weight press against the teen, pinning him in that position, and ran his sinful hands down the sides of that tantalizing body. Once he reached the hemline of the linen nightshirt, he slid his palms underneath the fabric and nearly lost allcontrol to feel the bare, satinskin of the boy's thighs. Ichigo was enthralled by it, too, clutching fistfuls of snowy hair and throwing his head back to moan appreciatively. "Oh, Shiro... please."

Shiro loved that musical sound, slithering up so his face was parallel to that he eternally adored. "What is it you want, love?" he said, knowing he would give anything he wished for.

"Take me," Ichigo murmured, eyes glazed over by more than lust. The white-haired male smirked lifting his hands from below the nightshirt and placing his left to cradle the other's cheek and his right to grasp the nape of the neck.

"I shall take you, my love. All of you," Shiro vowed, head tilting back a bit whilst his pointed fangs shot out of his gums. "Tonight, I begin making you mine once more."

There was no other warning before his dagger-like incisors pierced the flesh of Ichigo's throat, making him cry out in pain and ecstasy. Blood sweeter than any he ever tasted filled Shiro's mouth and he savored it as the precious life bound to his, drinking not nearly as much as he wanted and tearing himself away. Crimson dripping from his lips, he kissed a dazed Ichigo one last time.

"Now, sleep."

...

The Next Morning

The Parlour at Kurosaki Estate

...

Same as the day before, the three eldest brothers of the manor noticed something decidedly off about the youngest as he entered the room, recently awoken.

His usually sun-kissed skin a chalky pallor and dark circles under his noticeably dull eyes, Ichigo definitely looked fatigued, or even more so, ill whilst he shuffled across the floor - he would never reach his favorite spot in the far left corner armchair if continued at this pace.

"Ichigo," Mugetsu called to the young man, who appeared to be so dazed he didn't answer for five whole seconds. Stopping to lay a hand upon a high-backed chair like he needed to prop himself up, the young man faced the eldest expectantly, now in clear sight he seemed even more sickly. "Are you all right? You look a bit peaky."

"I had a bad night's sleep," Ichigo said, brushing it off.

"A bad night's sleep doesn't make you look that horrible," Kon piped up from next to Mugetsu, who sighed heavily upon the end of the sentence. "What? He looks like he's going to drop dead any second now."

"I agree with Kon," Kaien said, standing by the fireplace with an elbow on the mantle. "We should call Doctor Ishida, just to have him check Ichigo and make sure it's not an illness. Sorry brother, but you do rather resemble the walking dead this morning."

"No, no doctors today, please," Ichigo protested faintly, though the desperation in his voice was audible. "If you insist on calling Doctor Ishida to look at me, please wait until tomorrow or any day after that."

"Why? What's so special about today?" Kon asked, edging forward in his seat and tone becoming increasingly eager "Come on, tell me, please," he whined despite being a grown man at twenty-eight years-old.

"Well, um... I think Grimmjow may be returning to London today. I mean, I hope so. I'm not entirely certain..."

Kon leapt up from the couch, clasping his hands together loudly in excitement and smiling so wide Ichigo thought his face may break. "Perfect! That means we shall have to throw a welcome back to civilization bash for him tonight. We can br-,"

"No, Kon," Mugetsu interrupted sternly, not bothering to elaborate since his word was pretty much law on the estate. As Ichigo thought this, he sensed that he was listing to the side and righted himself, shaking his head to clear his mind but failing miserably since it made him even dizzier. He really did feel unwell but thought it could be he was tired from his restless sleep last night or when he noticed the garden doors had opened overnight reasoned he may have caught a cold due to the chill breezing into his room. However, he was tempted to believe neither of those explanations were correct, his vision blurring and temples throbbing

"But, brother, it would mean the world to Ichigo if you threw his man lover a party - right, Ichigo?" he heard Kon address him and wanted to respond yet his body would not listen to him. "Ichigo?"

"Ichigo, are you all right?"

"I'm calling Doctor Ishida."

He was just about to yell at everyone that he was fine and no, do not call the doctor when he fell, unable to remember hitting the floor.

...

LONDON

Later That Evening

The Front Door at the Kurosaki Estate

...

Oh, how he many times he had thought he would never see this place again, nor the one he called sweetheart inside. But there he was, hands twitching to touch every last trace of that precious body and know for sure that he was back home with his orange-haired beauty and they were both safe and sound. Know for sure he wasn't still amongst the crumbling ruins and death, breathing air thick with evil and blood.

After he had collapsed unconscious at the convent, he left to travel on horse to Budapest and panhandled his way home on several different trains, which isn't as easy at it looks. The instant he arrived in London not two hours ago he walked straight from the station to the Kurosaki Estate and nearly pounded on the door in his eagerness. If only someone would answer the damn door already. He was getting ready to knock again when one of the door swung open, revealing one of the manor's butlers.

"Ah, Mister Jaegerjaques, we have been expecting you."

Grimmjow didn't respond or gesture in any polite manner, he barrelled past the old man and wanting to check the parlour first as reading a book in the far left corner armchair was usually where he could find his beloved, sprinted across the foyer. He was halted almost immediately by a quiet voice that still demanded attention and knew the speaker was Mugetsu Kurosaki before he turned around to see him.

God help him but even seeing his lover's brother made him want to smile, though that desire faded quickly once he saw the expression on Mugetsu's face. He had never known the man could look more serious than he normally did. Grimmjow's stomach dropped, automatically getting that instinctual feeling when people know something is wrong.

"We were beginning to believe our baby brother was mistaken about your return," Mugetsu said coldly, well unaware of the trials and tribulations the blunette faced during his travels. Nevertheless, Grimmjow didn't feel the need to explain himself, his mind was rather preoccupied at the time.

"Where is he?" He sounded hoarse, gruff, as he hadn't spoken much on the journey from Romania.

"In his bedroom," Mugetsu answered shortly, angling his body and gesturing down the opposite hallway. "Come, I shall walk you there." His meaning was plain as day: he wanted to get a chance to explain or debrief something to Grimmjow by accompanying him, and this something wasn't good. "Were your travels to Romania enjoyable?" Mugetsu, after all this time, remained clueless on how to deal with his baby brother's lover.

"No," Grimmjow grunted as they strode down the hallway, he somehow repressing the urge to run. "Shall we skip pleasantries this once and cut to the point in this conversation where you tell me what's wrong right now." One of the rare few not frightened by the blue-haired man, the Kurosaki lowered his gaze to the ground, sighing, and then meeting Grimmjow's eyes. They reflexively both stopped dead in their tracks, facing each other a few doors down from the bedroom.

"Ichigo is sick."

Grimmjow suddenly forgot how to breathe yet attempted to suppress his panic at the news and control himself. "How sick?" he gritted out, dread icing his veins. "And for how long?"

"He lost consciousness and collapsed this morning, and we do not know," the dark-haired man said, glancing to the end of the hall. "The doctor is with him at the moment but I dare say your presence shall help far more than his. Go to him, now."

Grimmjow could not say nor do nor think of anything other than the room at the end of the hall. He flew down the corridor, colliding with the doors from the momentum and then bursting through them. They saw each other within the same instant.

The newly returned man roiled into a chaotic vortex of emotion, for he witnessed the breathtaking, exquisite vision of his sparkly-eyed sweetheart and noted the paleness to his skin, the bruise-like shadows under his eyes, and how his vibrant, radiant, unbreakable orangette lay prone in his massive bed. He could compare the feeling as finding your soul again after hellish damnation and then someone plunging a sword into its heart.

"Ichigo..." he uttered breathily, staggering toward the bed and falling to his knees beside it. He was positively stricken and... angry. He knew it was irrational but he wanted someone to blame for all of this. Weakening the man he loved was blasphemy, someone had to pay for their sin.

Lying in his bed, to Ichigo, was no longer an option. Not when Grimmjow was right there, looking like all the strength he himself had lacked these past weeks. He flung himself to the side of his bed, frustrated he was too weakened to really crush the man to him and euphoric to finally embrace the one he considered his rock, what he could hold onto whenever he couldn't make sense of the world - as he did now.

"Please don't ever leave me, again," he breathed against Grimmjow's neck.

"Mr. Kurosaki, it is really very ill-advised to sit up or stand in your current condition," a cool, male voice said behind them, evidently not bothered by the relationship revealed to him. Ichigo would have just ignored him until he went away. Grimmjow, on the other hand, had different ideas. Broad hands grasped the younger man's upper arms and lay him back in bed, the blue-haired man sitting on the edge of the bed to Ichigo's left.

"And what would that be? All you've done is prod and poke me from every angle and... a-and..." Ichigo's breath began rasping out his throat, his small coughs growing to wheezing that was painful to watch. Grimmjow was on the verge of demanding the doctor give the boy some water when it stopped as suddenly as it had begun, a last little cough the end. "And you have not a clue as to what I might have," Ichigo finished, ashen face now a bit flushed.

Grimmjow glanced over at the doctor, a tall, slender man with silver hair and a pompous, holier-than-thou air about him. Currently, he was scribbling away in a journal - probably writing down a new observation or symptom of some sort as Ichigo had watched him do for nearly two hours now. "I admit that I am unsure of your diagnosis for the time being, your symptoms are... confounding," the doctor said. "Though I should like to speak with your brother before we do anything further. I shall return after that."

"Please hurry, you have already taken too much of my time." In spite of the frailty in Ichigo's voice, he still spoke with the same bite Grimmjow remembered, and adored. The doctor left them promptly following that, closing the doors behind him. And then a powerful silence neither knew how long lasted fell upon the room.

Ichigo shattered it, reaching up and grabbing the other's collar. "Grimm... you're really here," he choked out, his throat tightening with emotion. Luckily, the man above him understood his feeble pulls on the piece of fabric and swooped down, hovering the slightest bit so as not to put any weight over the body beneath him. "God, I missed you so much."

Thus began a kiss, the kiss, of lovers reunited. Grimmjow was more aggressive than ever and Ichigo was thoroughly enjoying the intense hunger the man tasted of. Ah, he didn't think he actually realized how much he loved him all the time he was away. He was physically weakened, yes, but he was so grounded to the earth it was exhilarating. No one, no matter how determined or strong they were, could take him away. All too soon, Grimmjow pulled away and sat back on the side of the bed, clasping Ichigo's hand in his own.

"I won't leave you alone ever again, Ichi," he said in his bewitchingly deep, gravelly voice.

The orangette could have killed the doctor for choosing to return at that moment, the silver-haired man not sparing them a second glance as he circled around the bed to his doctor bag. From within the thing he drew out a vial and a syringe with a rather frightening needle. "This is just something to dull the pain and aid your sleep, Mr. Kurosaki," Doctor Ishida said emotionlessly.

Grimmjow was unimpressed with this doctor's 'medicine', especially when he read Morphine on the label as he watched as the man stood on the other side of the bed and stuck the needle into the vein inside Ichigo's arm, the teen wincing in discomfort as he was injected with the opioid. The doctor rambled on about someone watching the patient while he sleeps, but Grimmjow was more interested in the rapidly dulling gleam in Ichigo's eyes. He absently heard the doors shut and knew they were alone again.

"Mmm, stay with me, Grimm," the poor drugged thing mumbled sleepily, eyelids half mast. His body was relaxing but his mind struggled against the tranquilizing effect.

"I'm not going anywhere," the blunette soothed. "You can sleep, now. I'll be here when you wake up." Despite his reassurance, Ichigo still fought to stay awake, eyelashes fluttering.

"Nn-... no, wanna be with you..." By the last syllable, he was fast asleep. Grimmjow let go of his hand and rested it beside the slumbering youth. His heart ached at the angelic illusion Ichigo created, his bed the clouds of heaven. So serene he appeared that when Kaien offered to give him a break and watch over the ill beauty for a little while, he agreed to do so for a few minutes at most.

He thought Ichigo would be safe.

...

LONDON

Minutes Later That Night

Ichigo's Bedroom at the Kurosaki Estate

...

"Ichigo..."

Inside the youngest Kurosaki's bedroom it was nearly pitch black, the candles having been blown out and only the bolts of magnificent lightning sharply flashing through the glass doors lighting the space. The dark-haired man whose duty it was to watch over his darling brother was in a wooden chair beside the grand canopied bed, his head lolled down and to the side as he slept deeply. In his ivory satin coverings, the young man crowned with a halo of sunshine did not fare so well. He twisted within the sheets, arching his back and tossing his head side to side.

"Please, Ichigo, my love. Come to me, come kiss me..." the spellbinding, phenomenal voice cooed and so he woke, stilling on the bed and then feeling as if he glided over the floor through the room to the glass doors keeping him imprisoned and away from his love. As though Ichigo willingly banished them from his presence, the doors burst open and the crackling night air washed over him. Smiling, he tread the stone steps and grassy land.

This night there was a fearful, glorious thunderstorm unlike he'd seen before, a beautiful, terrible thing. Torrential downpours of rain soaked him to the bone, his linen nightshirt clinging indecently to his skin yet Ichigo delighted in the celestial crying rivers of tears, smiling as he trailed through watery curtains and through the garden maze. Lightning clapped and thunder boomed, electrifying and rumbling the earth. He thought he may cry tears of happiness once he stepped into that center clearing and saw his moon prince sitting on the bench and reaching out for him. He ran straight into those arms.

Shirosaki clutched him to his chest, a deep, shuddering sigh racking his body. His midnight sun eyes looked down into rapturous, adoring rich chocolate ones, a sight he could die happy having seen. "Oh, Ichigo," he whispered, somehow audible despite the spectacular storm roaring through London, and stroked one cheek lighter than its usual vibrancy. "My love, my heart, my life... forgive me."

"I shall never forgive you for loving me," Ichigo said, bold and strong as Shirosaki had always cherished.

"Then may you forgive me for what I do to you. Forgive me for this," Shiro husked, cold lips caressing the hollow of the orangette's throat, who shivered in pleasure then screamed hoarsely when fangs plunged into his jugular vein. Ichigo then became silent and limp though his eyes remained open, in a bizarre trance of euphoria and agony as he felt life slipping away as his prince drank it out of him.

Then suddenly, Shirosaki ripped away, snarling bestially, and Ichigo gasped in pain, droplets of blood splattering over the dampened, off-white fabric of his nightshirt.

"That fool dares to face me," Shiro said, now an animal growling and hissing. "He must know you are mine! You have always been mine." The faint orange-haired youth couldn't understand, too dazed from enchantments and blood loss. He felt the other gently shift him so that he lay on his side upon the stone bench, a tender, crimson-smeared kiss placed on his plump mouth. "Sleep now, Ichigo. Do not see me."

Meanwhile a furious Grimmjow tore through the garden maze in the pouring rain. His desperation was palpable, one could practically taste it on the sound of his voice as he shouted "Ichigo!", his calls drowned out by the deafening clamor of the thunderstorm's orchestra. But he knew the boy should be out here somewhere for when he had returned after a mere eleven minutes the bed was empty and the glass doors open, swaying in the winds.

He just hoped he wasn't too late.

"Ichigo!" he yelled again, near panic when again he went unanswered. His feet remembered the pathway to their marked private place in the middle of the hedge labyrinth, carrying him there as if he had wings. And then he finally rounded that corner and his heart stopped, fear clenching it in a cold, iron fist.

For on the bench below the wrought iron archway lay a figure in white so still it may have been one of the garden statues. Gathering the sheer will to approach the lifeless form, Grimmjow tried to step cautiously in case something else was in the maze as well and failed miraculously. He vaulted across the clearing and circled to be on the side the figure faced, roaring wordlessly in pure outrage.

"Ichigo," he said, crouching down to cradle the young man's head, turning and lifting the other's upper body against his chest. Grimmjow shook his lover, noticing the colorless pallor of once sunkissed skin and the fresh blood sprayed across the soaked linen. "Sweetheart, please wake up. Please, Ichigo..."

"Mmn... Grimm..." croaked the still living orangette, a sweet, beatific melody to Grimmjow's ears. Fully rousing from unconsciousness, Ichigo looked around him frantically and gasping, impulsively clutching the blue-haired man's shirt. "Grimmjow, I... I couldn't control myself! I felt my soul leave my body, and then there was this agonizing feeling, and when it came back to me I saw your face and you were shaking me," he raved breathlessly, horrified and lost. Tears clouded a frightened, wide gaze that was unbearable to witness on a loved one and Ichigo buried his face in the shoulder next to his head.

"It's all right, I've got you, now," was the only thing Grimmjow could think to say, standing up carrying his lover in his arms. He started walking back to the manor, the storm raging on.

"I had to, Grimm. He pulled me and lured me and I had no control. And those eyes..." Ichigo murmured against the man's shirt, compelled to say more for a reason he didn't understand. He was rather lightheaded and barely comprehended what he said. "Those eyes, like night and fire... I still have the taste of his blood on my mouth..."

Horror froze Grimmjow to the spot, striking him as a lightning bolt did upon a dreadful recognition and before the one in his arms lost to the encroaching darkness he saw all of the garden's beautiful, blooming flowers were dead.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shirosaki is the bloodthirsty Count Dracula, Grimmjow his fearless rival in the fierce battle for a certain orangette's love... and soul. Based on the original novel by Bram Stoker. AU, yaoi, twoshot, GrimmShiroIchi

...

LONDON

The Next Morning

Ichigo's Bedroom at the Kurosaki Estate

...

Dawn was grave at the Kurosaki manor that next morning, the sun rising over the night's terrific storm to shine rays of righteous light that streamed into the grim room all hoped not to become darling Ichigo's deathbed. For he looked dead laying there so peacefully, lifeless, dull, and still, as if the luxuriant, glamorous, vestal white resting place were his grave. If one were not emotionally attached, the scene could be considered beautiful, Ichigo's fairness radiant even through death painting a portrait of macabre loveliness.

Grimmjow sat bedside, leaning forward so that he almost appeared to be praying, his cyan gaze sharp with anxiety. He had kept this position after he'd carried his love inside, who'd been totally unconscious at that point, and called for the other men in the house to come quick and get the doctor straight away, doing anything he could to help until there was nothing to do but wait. The three brothers were all present as well, standing at various locations throughout the room, solemn and quiet. Doctor Ishida was also there, having visited the emergency call last night, leaving and now returned. He stood at the headboard, holding Ichigo's limp wrist in one hand and a pocket watch in the other.

Not a soul knew of the sweet and frightening things the orangette dreamed of in his deep slumber, images depicting both the unholy and the divine, Heaven and Hell, consuming him as the battle for his soul raged on within. A voice he had loved for an eternity spoke to him in a tongue of the past and Ichigo was enraptured, scared to answer the call and yet aching to do so. He was torn between beckoning darkness and righteous light, an agony unlike any other.

"Incredible," the doctor muttered, lying the patient's arm beside him and shaking his head before flipping his watch closed. "To have sustained such blood loss in the matter of two nights, without any injuries or sign of internal bleeding... it is a medical phenomenon."

"And you know not how to treat or cure my brother then, good doctor," Mugetsu spoke pointedly, never looking away from said brother.

"I am afraid not."

"Then you may take your leave now. Thank you for your time." Doctor Ishida packed his bag and exited the room as dignified as a man proved incompetent could and the bedroom fell silent once again. Grimmjow bowed his head, running his fingers through his hair. He couldn't lose Ichigo, not to a man, not to a monster, not to anything.

"I think I know someone who can help." The other three men were all surprised to see it was Kon who spoke, brow furrowed in a sober expression so that he was almost an exact copy of his younger brother. "I shall cable Kisuke Urahara, a metaphysician philosopher. He was a professor of mine years ago."

"He sounds like a damn witchdoctor to me, Kon," Kaien scoffed at the suggestion.

"Urahara knows more about obscure diseases than any man in the world. He's brilliant and, as of now, our only hope," Kon snapped back, starting forward until a rough voice stopped him where he stood.

"Do it. Bring him here."

The way he silently blazed right then, a man burning alive from the inside, no one would dare question Grimmjow Jaegerjaques.

...

LONDON

Later That Morning

A Classroom at a Medical College

...

The rotund lecture hall's leveled bleachers were occupied by men of all ages, their common factors their well-to-do status and interest in the medicinal sciences. Below them in the center of the hall was a long wooden table upon which amassed varied accoutrement - books, some lying open while others sat in corners, assorted medical instruments - some rather cruel looking, and a cage in which flitted a black, winged creature.

Kisuke Urahara was a blonde man, hair a bit too shaggy for proper British society and eyes a smooth gray, he spoke with a light German accent and was considered by many to be one of those eccentric geniuses that come once a generation. And as he lectured the audience, he slid along the table, wearing a long, tan overcoat and leaning close to the cage.

"The vampire bat must consume ten times its own weight in fresh blood each day or its own blood cells will die," he said, opening the tiny door and reaching inside, proferring his thumb to the tittering bat who promptly bit into its flesh. "Cute little vermin, Ja?" The audience chuckled and Urahara withdrew his thumb, and sucked the red droplet left before speaking again. "Blood and the diseases of the blood such as syphilis will concern us here. The very name 'venereal diseases', the 'diseases of Venus', imputes to them divine origin. They are involved in that sex problem about  
which the ethics and ideals of Christian civilization are concerned. In fact, civilization and syphilization have advanced together."

The men above him chortled heartily at that, the professor's assistant entering the lecture hall's pit and handing him a strip of printed paper. "What is this?" Urahara asked, unfurling it to read the typed letters.

"It's from the telegraph, Professor," the assistant said.

...do not lose an hour. My dear brother near death. A disease of the blood  
unknown to all medical theory. I am in desperate need. Kon Kurosaki.

"Hmm, thank you," Urahara murmured, gray eyes sparking in interest. He lifted his head to address his audience. "Gentlemen, thank you, that will be all."

...

LONDON

That Evening

The Grand Foyer at the Kurosaki Estate

...

"Professor Urahara, how good of you to come!" Kon Kurosaki greeted his old mentor as he entered the opulent manor, bounding towards the man and relief shining on his face as the new arrival handed a butler his traveling hat and cloak.

"I always come to my friends in need when they call me," Urahara said. "So, Kon, tell me everything about your dear brother's unusual case."

"He has all the usual anemic signs."

"Ja."

"Doctor Ishida said his blood analyzes normal and yet it is not. He manifests continued blood loss but no one can trace the cause," Kon said fretfully, wringing his hands as his worry increased in his tone.

"Blood loss?" the professor said. "How?"

The younger man opened his mouth to answer they hadn't the slightest clue when Ichigo's distinct scream echoed throughout the manor as he finally awoke. Both men took off running toward the boy's bedroom, bursting through the doors to find Grimmjow holding the convulsing orangette to the bed as Kaien and Mugetsu looked on with horror. None of them noticed the menacing, looming shadow that had appeared on the wall and now wrenched itself away, vanishing completely. Once it was gone, Ichigo stopped screaming and fell limp in the blunette's arms, whining pitifully.

"Mein Gott," Urahara gasped, the three men already in the bedroom snapping their eyes to him as he approached. "May I?" he asked Grimmjow, whose protective presence beside the bed emanated possessiveness and wariness. The man nodded curtly, reluctantly moving aside so the professor could examine the sick male. Urahara noted his ashen pallor and bruise-like shadows under the eyes that made his tangerine hair look even brighter. "My God, he's only a child." He cautiously reached out to move Ichigo's nightshirt collar aside, seeing two inflamed pin points on the tender flesh of his throat and causing the boy to moan out a sob as if in great pain. "Ja, my God, there's no time to be lost. There must be a transfusion at once."

"Transfusion? You mean you have perfected the procedure?" Kon questioned worriedly.

"Perfected, no. I've only experimented- animals, goats, sheeps. If hemolysis occurs in the blood or the serum, his red blood cells will explode. He will die," Urahara said, setting his bag on the nightstand and taking out various medical equipment - tubes, needles, and a glass jar. "You do know how to tie a tourniquet, correct?" The professor then grasped Ichigo's right arm, pushing the linen fabric up to the shoulder as the boy continued his soft, tortured moaning.

"What in God's name is going on?" Kaien demanded, stepping forward. "What the hell are you doing to Ichigo?"

"He's trying to save his life," Grimmjow growled from where he was sitting by the professor and the nightstand.

"Ah, you are the lover, then?" Urahara said, unable to not pick up on the desperation only a man in love could have in his voice. "Please, roll up your sleeve, this young man is very ill, he's dying. He wants blood and blood he must have." The blue-haired man immediately obeyed, folding his shirt sleeve above his elbow and tightening a piece of rubber around his upper arm using his teeth. Meanwhile the professor pushed a needle through the skin of Ichigo's arm and into his vein, the boy whimpering in his halfway comatose state.

Urahara then turned to Grimmjow and said "This may hurt a little," before doing the same, not earning the slightest reaction. As the three brothers watched silently, the blonde began pumping a strange metal syringe attached to the glass jar, blood flowing out of Grimmjow's arm through the tubing and the jar and into the other's veins. Ichigo winced as he warred with reality and his dreams of beauty and terror.

"Take it all if you must," Grimmjow said quietly. "My life is his. I would give my last drop to save him."

"Your last drop?" Urahara said, perking up from where he had moved to check Ichigo's pulse down along the bed. "Thank you, you are very welcomed here. Though I do not ask as much as that... not yet."

The narrowed pair of gold and black eyes that looked on from the darkness outside were invisible to them.

...

LONDON

Later That Evening

The Garden at the Kurosaki Estate

...

Ichigo slept calmly upon the bed, the needle removed from his arm and a bit of color returned to his face, his exquisite nightmares plaguing him not for the time being. The man at his bedside stroked his hair tenderly though his expression was harsh, hateful. Meanwhile, right outside the bedroom and down the set of stone steps were the three other Kurosaki men, all of their faces marred by concern and worry and confusion, the last undeniably most of all.

"Christ, did you see how much blood that lunatic pumped out of Jaegerjaques, it must have been twice that of a single man's!" Kaien exclaimed, sitting down on the last step and threading his fingers into his jet black hair. "How is he still alive, yet alone look as well as ever?"

"Indeed," Mugetsu agreed from where he was standing, leaning against the railing three steps above. "I have a newfound respect for him. And yet, I am baffled. Ichigo's whole body couldn't hold that much blood. What took it out?"

"That is a good question, Mister Kurosaki."

Three pairs of differently hued eyes shot over to where Professor Urahara had appeared in the greenery off to the side, as if out of thin air. The blonde man had his usual small smile tilting his lips upward, though his gray eyes shone with thoughts much darker than he appeared on the surface. The three brothers hid their surprise well, and Kon took a few steps forward through the garden courtyard. "Those marks on his throat," he said, hitting the back of his hand on the other's palm. "No disease, no trituration. I am sure the blood loss occurred there."

"Oh? Where did the blood go?" Urahara questioned, walking closer with his hands clasped behind his back in a scholarly pose. "You were once a careful student, Kon. Use your brain. Where did the blood go - tell me."

"The bed clothes would be covered in blood," Kon said a bit helplessly, scouring his mind for some solution.

"Exactly," Urahara snapped. "You do not let your eyes see nor your ears hear that which you cannot account for!"

"Something just went up there, sucked it out of him, and then flew away, I suppose?" Kon said, his head shaking a bit as he shrugged, flinging his hands up in the air.

"Ja. Why not?"

All was silent for a long moment as all three Kurosaki's stared at the completely serious professor, Kaien recovering first and standing from his seat on the steps and advancing on the man. "That's brilliant. That's absolutely brilliant," he said, gesturing toward Urahara in an accusatory manner, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Will one of you learned doctors or whatever you are kindly tell me what the hell is going on with Ichigo?"

Urahara ignored him, not glancing away from Kon's befuddled gaze. "Kon, you are a scientist by nature. You do not think that there are things in this universe that you cannot understand and which are true - mesmerism, hypnotism..."

"You and Tsukabishi have proved hypnotism!" the orange-haired Kurosaki declared, whipping around from his former professor in frustration.

"...telekinesis... materialization... astral bodies... " Urahara's voice trailed off, fading fainter and fainter until the three other men looked to where he should be standing to find him gone.

"Professor?"

"Where the hell did he go?"

That particular question was answered when the blonde mane and tan overcoat of the man they were searching for appeared rounding a large stone pillar several yards away. Urahara held a smoking cigar to his lips, sucking the tobacco's essence in and blowing out the gray fumes. "See?" he said, treading the grassy grounds back to the others. "Gentlemen, we're not fighting some disease here. Those marks on your dear brother's neck were made by something unspeakable out there, dead but not dead. It stalks us for some dread purpose I do not yet comprehend. To live it feeds on Ichigo's precious blood. It is a beast, a monster."

A second later, he pointed with his cigar to the youngest Kurosaki's bedroom visible through the glass doors - the scene revealed that of a blue-haired man reverently keeping watch over his lifeless lover, gripping an inanimate hand in his.

"Just ask Mister Jaegerjaques. He knows."

...

LONDON

The Next Morning

Ichigo's Bedroom at the Kurosaki Estate

...

And thus had begun the workings of the mad genius, everyone save for Grimmjow looking on with equal parts confusion and concern. Urahara had covered the room in strange apotropaics, hanging wreaths of garlic on either nightstand and placing a strand of the plant's cloves and a blessed, intricately blue and white beaded choker of gold satin around Ichigo's pierced neck. The walls were decorated in ornate crucifixes and the professor had burned sage, filling the room with its musky fragrance and murmuring holy prayers and hymns in Latin.

Currently, he sat bedside, his stethoscope placed atop the orangette's fluttering heartbeat, listening to labored, shallow breaths as blue eyes watched him warily over his shoulder.

A maid entered the room, hesitant before earning the approving nod from Mugetsu, who was sitting in the corner armchair, two fingers at his temple, a leg bent so that his foot rested on his knee. She approached cautiously, setting a silver tray laden with a porcelain tea set upon one of the nightstands whilst Urahara withdrew from his patient, removing the stethoscope from his ears. And as the maid turned away to quickly leave the vague, cloying scent of evil, she inadvertently knocked a garlic wreath to the floor.

Ichigo's reaction was instant. Dark amber eyes snapped open for the first time in almost two days, a displeased sneer curling his lip and furrowing his brow. All those in the room immediately stiffened, leaning forward in worried anticipation as Ichigo began writhing and moaning in the ivory silk sheets, wicked whispers in an ancient language only heard by him. Striking out with one hand, he flung the tea set on the night table across the room so that it shattered against the wall and started frantically yanking at the necklace of garlic tied around his throat.

"This is why I cannot breathe!" he spat viciously, wildly attempting to tear the thing off of his neck.

Urahara sprung to grasp the boy's wrists, trying to stop him from succeeding in ridding himself of the herbal jewelry. "Ichigo, Ichigo... it's medicinal," he said. "To help you sleep. It's for the bad dreams."

"It's garlic, it's nothing but garlic!" Ichigo hissed furiously, struggling with the professor that continued murmuring to him soothingly and beckoned for the one standing anxiously behind him to come closer.

"Ichigo, Ichigo, look... look, your lover is right here," Urahara said, stepping back to allow the aforementioned man to swoop into his place. "Tell one of your servants to fetch some brandy," he instructed Kon, who obeyed without question and ran through the door to do as such.

It pained Grimmjow to see his beloved like this, so pale and so ill and so unlike himself. He caught one of Ichigo's hands as he sat on the bed right beside the younger male, pressing it to his lips. "It's all right," he said softly as his words had a much greater effect than the blonde's, watching those beautiful, toffee-colored eyes change, their venomous irritation dimming to contentedly gleam sensually."It's all right, Ichi, I'm here to take care of you."

Upon his love's touch, the hypnotic voices from the darkness sang to Ichigo of ungodly pleasures, coaxing him to sense the sinful delight throbbing underneath golden skin that promised ecstasy and power. Intoxicated and hungry in lust, he lost himself entirely.

"Oh, Grimm," Ichigo hummed, brushing his captured hand along the other's cheekbone and the nape of his neck, where he twirled his fingers into the strands of light blue hair there. Grimmjow felt himself being pulled in by those dazzling, glittering ochre depths, those hooded, lushly lashed eyes the epitome of 'come hither.' He was utterly helpless when the orangette arched up off of the bed toward him and hooked a leg around his waist, the tempting siren drawing him closer. "You're such a beast, Grimm. Won't you kiss me?" The blunette bent down, entranced, and Ichigo's lips lightly swept over his, trailing across his jaw and to his neck. "Kiss me..." He felt the boy's hot, moist breath and the tip of his tongue on the sensitive flesh covering his jugular vein and shivered. "Kiss me..."

However, in the next second Urahara was roughly shoving him aside and an frustrated hiss pierced the air, its owner outraged that what he mindlessly desired had been ripped away from him when he'd been so close. Still dazed, Grimmjow had to shake his head to clear it of the strange fog clouding his mind until the sight of the professor pinning a madly thrashing Ichigo to the mattress came into focus.

"Get off of me!" Ichigo screeched, baring his teeth.

Grimmjow's first instinct was to rush to his lover's aid, snarling and grabbing Urahara's upper arm before he saw something that froze him to the spot, eyes widening in horror as icy fingers of cold dread seized his heart. He heard Kaien gasp somewhere behind him and Mugetsu rise from his chair, inhaling sharply as they beheld the same terrible sight.

"Ichigo, listen to me. Sleep, sleep now, sleep... " Urahara said gently whilst Ichigo's eyes rolled back in his head, the youth collapsing in the man's arms and panting desperately as a pair of inhuman, porcelain white, pointed fangs retracted back into his gums. "There, there... Ja..."

"...Nosferatu."

...

LONDON

Later That Day

Late Afternoon

Ichigo's Bedroom at the Kurosaki Estate

...

The hours after that morning's strange and frightful events passed by uneventfully, though they were far from peaceful. A silence only matched by a graveyard's midnight hour had descended upon the bedroom, each of the five men lost in his own thoughts as they watched over the unnaturally ill boy as he slept like the dead. Professor Urahara was the sole occupant to take their eyes away from the grand, white bed, his lively gray orbs now focused avidly on a centuries old, leather bound book upon his lap. Its worn, textured cover bore the title in golden script that read Vampyre.

The blonde man unlatched the volume's delicate, metallic lock, opening the book and flipping through its endless, thick parchment pages decorated with bold, inked letters,and symbols. He stopped once he came upon a full page portrait of a man whose eyes that were pictured as an inverse with black sclera brought his entire being to a sudden halt, their arresting image as visceral and magnificent as if he were staring at the real pair themselves. Urahara traced the illustrated man's long, wavy locks of hair and wicked, devilish smirk, turning the page whilst his heart raced in enthusiastic anticipation. He was met by paragraphs of ancient Romanian he devoured eagerly.

Here occurs the shocking and frightening history of the wild berserker, Prince Shirosaki Dracula, how he impaled people and roasted them, boiled their heads in a kettle, how he skinned them alive and hacked them to pieces and then drank their blood.

"Ja, Dracul," Urahara whispered to himself, no other in the room hearing him. "His blood is the life..."

At that very moment, the patio doors violently flew open, crashing against the walls, and a gust of wind stronger than any within the bedroom had ever experienced blasted through the open portal. The curtains whipped fiercely in the air and papers flew in every direction, garlic wreaths and mounted crucifixes thrown across the room to land on the ground. In the next instant, Ichigo gasped desperately for air, his breath harshly rasping out from his throat, and he arched off the bed, clawing at his neck and chest.

Grimmjow was the first to rise from his seat, shielding his face with one arm from the brutal, bitter winds as he steadily made his way where the glass doors swung turbulently on their hinges. Kon and Kaien were vaulting after him to the doorway within that second, similarly protecting themselves using their arms and squinting through the blistering gales of wind, whilst Mugetsu leapt from the corner armchair so that he could tend to the orange-haired youth tangled within his ivory, silk sheets and writhing deliriously.

Reacting very differently than the others as a result of the pages snapping to a picture possessing such glorious testament, Urahara gave a burst of delighted laughter and jumped to his feet, still clutching the book in his hands. A manic smile curved his lips and he paid no attention to any of the other men, lifting the leather volume in front of him even as his tan overcoat and ash blonde hair thrashed about. Several feet away from him Grimmjow was forcing one of the glass-paned doors closed, the two brothers doing the same, an insurmountable amount of strength required in order to do so.

"It is the cause!" Urahara exclaimed gaily, laughing madly. "It is the cause - my soul. Ah hah!"

Finally there was a loud thud signaling the three men had succeeded in forcing the doors closed, Grimmjow bolting the lock, then shoving an armchair against them and drawing the heavy curtains shut, the scene of the garden at dusk disappearing from view. As soon as the winds died, a tormented, violently shaking Ichigo fell lifelessly back against his mount of pillows and his eldest brother released his hold on the boy's shoulders, sighing in relief. However, there was not even the briefest moment of peace since the four males instantly looked at Professor Urahara, shocked by the manic glee the blonde radiated.

"It is Dracula, the undead, the foe I have pursued all my life!" he cried joyfully.

Grimmjow ground his teeth together and clenched his fists, the sound of that name like a punch in the gut, slamming into him and sending his breath right out of his lungs. But Urahara's declaration made not a lick of sense to the three eldest Kurosaki brothers, Mugetsu and Kaien wondering if the man had lost all sanity while Kon frowned, troubled by the way the foreign moniker raised the hair on the back of his neck and chilled him to the bone.

"Professor, what on earth are you talking about?" the latter said.

"Hah! Ahaha!" was Urahara's response.

Staggering away from the others, Grimmjow dropped to his knees beside the bed and deep within the recesses of his mind damned himself for his unforgivable sin of bringing such evil to his lover. He grabbed a fistful of his hair and, unable to stop himself despite a completely overwhelming sense of unworthiness, enfolded Ichigo's hand in his. All this time the blue-haired man had known this was his fault but still he'd hoped somehow he was wrong.

"Will you stop laughing like some raving lunatic and tell us what in God's name is going on?" Kaien demanded, striding forward so that he stood toe to toe with the professor.

"Ahah, Mister Kurosaki, I think you mean 'in Satan's name'!" Urahara said, throwing an arm around the brunette's shoulders jovially. "Hear me out, young man. Your dear brother, Ichigo, is not a random victim attacked by mere accident, do you understand? No, he is a willing recruit, a breathless follower, a wanton follower - I dare say, a devoted disciple! He is the devil's concubine, ahahah, do you understand me?" His demented gaiety was not in the least bit affected when Kaien roughly pushed him away, rage clouding the Kurosaki's aqua-green gaze.

"You sick, perverted old man! How dare you speak about my brother in that manner!" Kaien seethed, appearing on the brink of wringing the older man's neck.

"I merely speak the truth!" Urahara cried, beaming and mirth dancing in his bright gray orbs. "Trust me when I say we must all battle a beast created from pure evil and destroy him, otherwise your precious Ichigo will become a bitch of the devil! A whore of darkness, hah!"

"Be warned, Professor," Mugetsu said, his tone eerily even-keeled and heavy with threat. "Such vile words against my brother will not be tolerated and only end badly for you."

"Ah, you still do not believe me?" Urahara chuckled, unfazed and rather amused by the reception to his revelations. "Then perhaps your eyes should look upon the image that shall prove far beyond the reality of my 'vile words.' No, it shall answer the most important of all man's questions!"

Grimmjow glanced over his shoulder, intrigue piercing through his dense aura that emanated despair and ferocity, and saw Urahara turn his antiquated text around, enabling every other man to behold the illustration, an unearthly vision in all senses of the word. It was almost impossible to believe what, or rather who, was pictured along an entire page yellowed and frayed with age yet remained clear as the day of its painting.

The portrait's upper right side depicted a man horribly familiar, hair and skin china white, paler than a callalily's delicate petals. His strange handsomeness seemed to glow from the page due to the contrast of his ebony, monstrous armor and he was seated upon the curve of a perfect, crescent moon. Eyes bizarrely colored gold and black stared down adoringly from his perch, an emotion so pure and good uncanny on a visage that screamed otherworldly malice.

But the object of his adoration was really what cast stunned horror like great swells of waves crashing over its witnesses.

Directly opposite its lunar counterpart, a round sun flared rays of light as the background for a radiant figure crowned by a halo of vibrant, honeyed tangerine blossom hair. This man embodied everything the other was not, his flesh golden and archaic, diaphanous clothing a dazzling ivory. And that perfect face looking back rapturously was a knife through Grimmjow's heart, true pain actually stabbing his chest like white-hot pokers. That face was imprinted onto his very soul and to behold its beauty illuminated by affection meant for another tortured him.

He remembered the way Dracula had looked at Ichigo's picture and how it had sent a chill down his spine, as if he had a part to play in a story that was not known to him.

"Christ, is that... ?" Kaien said, a hand covering his mouth after he at last broke their dread-induced silence.

"It can't be," Kon said quietly, his attempted denial weakened due to the grim acceptance hovering like looming shadows above them all that would overtake them any second now. "Professor, please tell us this is some kind of awful trick."

"It must be, there is not a sliver of possibility this supposedly centuries old text would hold something so... absurd," Mugetsu protested, not even his lifetime spent practicing logic and always speaking to never betray his feelings able to keep the doubt out of his words. "This entire, ridiculous tale you have concocted, Professor, is an offense upon our intellects."

"Oh?" Urahara said, quirking an eyebrow. "Then surely you shall be able to dismiss that these past days' strange events resulted from earthly causes, able to look at your dear, dying brother and still say no unholy demons are killing him and his human soul right before your very eyes!"

The silence that then consumed the bedroom thundered, ringing fearsome truth like triumphant melodies and it could no longer be denied. Fear quickly followed its acceptance once those converted believers realized they faced the unknown - man's one true enemy.

"If we battle the dreaded beast determined to marry him in the ungodly matrimony of the living dead, we may yet still save Ichigo's precious soul," Urahara said, swiftly closing his book as his serious facade brightened into manic glee once again. "His salvation from an eternal hunger for the taste of living blood shall test our courage and our faith. Therefore, I pose to you the question: are you willing to risk everything you are, your soul itself, to save him?"

Not a single one of them spoke their answer, an ominous air promising they would indeed put their very souls on the line without a second thought if that's what it took.

"Good, you men will need that fearlessness with you this night."

"Do you mean we seek to find and destroy this monster the coming hours 'till dawn?" Mugetsu asked, resolute and unwavering and so clearly up for the challenge.

"Seek, yes. Find and destroy, I am not so certain," Urahara said, slate orbs turning contemplative. "He could be lurking anywhere in the city and should we discover his whereabouts he still may travel any distance fast as the wind."

A few seconds passed and no man said a word, until the rough velvet voice of he whose hatred burned the hottest conquered the silence despite its sound almost inaudibly. Eyes like sapphire jewels blazed ferociously as they focused on his lap and then snapped forward, their hurricane blue color nearly blinding those to whom he spoke. "I know where the bastard sleeps, he cannot hide from me," Grimmjow said, his words dripping a solemn, grave intensity.

"Well then it would appear good fortune graces us early this night, Mister Jaegerjaques," Urahara declared, euphoric anticipation glinting within his stone gray orbs and a licentious grin eating his face. "For once we find Dracula's resting place we shall have a much needed advantage and one step closer to the devil's demise. We leave an hour before sunset so that we may save dearest Ichigo a fate serving his dark master's every indecent, erotic desire. But not on an empty stomach, ahaha!"

"You really are out of your mind, you know that?" Kaien muttered harshly, shaking his head.

"Hah! That may be for tonight we hunt a bloodthirsty devil and give the forces beyond all human experience an enormous power. Gentlemen, do not fail out there tonight or else Ichigo will be lost forever, hah!" the blonde raved emphatically as if he were an actor and they all characters in some theatrical production. "Now, I starve, feed me!"

Kon ushered his former professor out of the bedroom, preceded by the two eldest Kurosaki men who both scowled at the back of Urahara's head, irritated that he continued his mad barks of laughter.

After the door closed behind them Grimmjow and his comatose lover were completely alone after days spent consistently accompanied by at least one sibling and most recently Professor Urahara. Ichigo still slumbered lifelessly though the blunette knew the boy's mind was nowhere near at peace whilst he fought the encroaching blackness that hungered to take his life and devour his soul. Brushing the back of his hand along a pale cheek, a thought came to the older man and quickly he moved his hands upwards until they were both at the nape of his neck.

Locating its little end clasp, Grimmjow unhooked the chain once his mother's most treasured piece of jewelry where it lay under his shirt collar. As soon as it separated into two strands, he lifted it off of his neck so that at its center the religiously symbolic pendant dangled freely. Not able but feel that the sleeping orangette may break under his touch he moved with gentleness he thought beyond his harsh nature, he placed the chain around Ichigo's throat alongside the choker and garlic cloves, making certain to fasten its clasp before letting it fall into place.

Metallic gold shimmered faintly against skin covered by a chalky pallor and the palm-sized, papally blessed crucifix rested right in the hollow of the youth's throat. Grimmjow prayed the protective charm would at least be strong enough to ward off the nightmares but, realizing his presence among the other hunters of the devil was needed, reluctantly rose to his feet. He reminded himself he must leave Ichigo here, safe and where they faced the demonic entity stalking them far, far away.

The instant the man stepped toward the doorway, a breathless voice calling his name almost too soft to be heard turned him to stone. "Grimmjow," it called again a moment later and then he could move again, the spell broken. He practically flew back around, falling onto his knees so he was bedside once more. Starbright, dark amber eyes instantly locked his in an electric gaze from which there was no escape and to bliss he lost himself upon recognizing his Ichigo staring back at him, not even a trace of the day's earlier warped, hostile version.

"Hey there, sweetheart. I was really starting to miss you," Grimmjow said, trying to sound lighthearted which was rather all for naught, their senses overwhelmed by the presence of evil. "Your brothers and that madman are not exactly the best of company."

Ichigo smiled a slight bit, sickness clouded, toffee brown orbs lighting up a little. He hadn't a clue as to how many hours, or days, he had been unconscious this time yet he too felt they had been apart for what seemed like forever and his chest tightened, a great relief at being reunited the cause. "Are you expecting an apology?" he said, breathing too difficult to allow him say much else.

"Yes," Grimmjow said intensely, his casual facade vanishing entirely. "I know you don't remember, but there were times I thought... hell, I just wanted to kill something."

"Don't say things like that," Ichigo insisted, breath catching in his throat and choking him for a few seconds. "I can't bear it."

It was the truth, he could swear on his life if there was possibly anything more agonizing than witnessing pain swirling within those storm blue eyes he did not know it. Grimmjow was supposed to be untouchable, never showing weakness, and the only thing Ichigo could hold onto and feel safe from all harm, know no force on this earth could tear him away. He turned onto his side, clasping the hand he held in his own over his heart.

"Please help me, I don't know what's happening to me. I'm changing, I can feel it," he confessed desperately. "I can hear everything, the servants on the other side of the house whispering. I hear mice in the attic stomping like elephants. But I'm having horrible nightmares and... sometimes they're not nightmares at all, they're sweet dreams of beautiful mountains and flowers and someone's calling me. They keep saying my name, but I don't want to go, I don't, and then I see those eyes..." Ichigo trailed off, closing his eyes and memories of his dreams made him cringe, his own deep desire that he go to the one that called his name terrifying and confusing him. "No, I don't want to go, please don't let him take me away..."

"Ichigo, look at me," Grimmjow said, pulling the orangette's hands to him. Seeing his lover plead helpless, eyes full of terror, was heartbreaking when the youth had always been incredibly strong and brash and fearless. After a second, Ichigo obeyed and cautiously opened his eyes. "That will never happen, not as long as live, I swear it. I won't rest until I hunt that monster down and rid you of him for good, do you understand?"

"No, you can't! I won't let you," Ichigo protested weakly. "If you died, I... please just don't leave me alone. He'll come for me and eventually I won't be able to resist his voice, he's called to me my whole life..."

His heart plummeting through his stomach, Grimmjow remembered his lover's portrait within those worn pages of the professor's book. Yet he refused to believe it proved awful things about which he could barely think. Ichigo was his, no matter what, and he would make damn certain it stayed that way. If that white devil thought his demonic powers were enough to defeat him, he was sorely mistaken. Resolve strengthened, the blunette rose beside the bed, slid onto its covers of soft satin, and bent over the one lying beneath him.

"I don't care. I don't care about anything that thing's ever done, you hear me?" Grimmjow snarled, slipping a knee in between the other's legs as he neared closer to bringing them flush against each other. "You are mine. You will always be mine."

A thrilled shudder running through his body at the possessive words, Ichigo looked up from under lowered lashes. He hummed in pleasure upon the incredible sensation of the older man's body heat through the layers of fabric between them, warming every inch of his chilled flesh, and he freed his wrists from Grimmjow's hold, longing to feel broad shoulders and a strong back he admired. The blue-haired man's solid build comforted as much as it excited him, forever firm and unyielding. When he held Grimmjow in his arms no one could take him away.

His anemic frailty frustrated him, rendering him too weak to really crush the man to him, and he settled instead for wrapping his legs around the other's waist and drawing him nearer down to him that way. Grimmjow, never one to refuse him, lowered his body close as possible without resting any of his weight on the orangette and seized those lips begging to be kissed. Ichigo moaned into the other man's mouth as it parted invitingly, clutching a handful of sky blue hair and starting at a toned pectoral slid a palm beneath them all the way down to right between cut Adonis lines.

Grimmjow moved his lips to the side, trailing butterfly kisses descending along Ichigo's throat and collarbone, continuing lower still until he had kissed a path straight down the linen-covered torso. Underneath his ministrations the boy arched his back and tilted his hips up toward him. Growling in approval, he squeezed his hands around Ichigo's thighs and swept back upwards, stopping at the elegant curve of that lovely neck bedecked in protective, sacred ornaments. He attached his open mouth to where they bared an enticing spanse of skin, abiding primal instincts and biting gently down on the tender flesh whilst they urged him to leave a mark of his own upon Ichigo's throat.

It was only when Grimmjow heard the rasping pants sounding like death itself that he regained his senses and immediately tore himself away. Pitching backwards fast as he could, his stomach tightened into knots once he caught sight of Ichigo, flushed and gasping for breath. He couldn't believe he had been so careless, letting his baser desires completely overwhelm him and mentally cursing himself for it.

Yet even as he struggled to catch his breath and willed the imposing unconsciousness to stay at bay, Ichigo craved for more. Grimmjow defended him against the hungry darkness he felt hovering predatorily all around them with just his mere presence. He attempted to protest when the blunette's arms encircled his torso and lifted him higher on the bed, propping his head up using its mount of pillows which allowed his breath to come easier, but he only managed a soft, petulant whine.

"Come... back," he said, wheezing raspily.

"Shh, hush. When you open your eyes, I swear I'll be right here," Grimmjow said, utilizing his talent for soothing the boy. Though he longed and fought to stay awake, Ichigo's body betrayed him, relaxing and shutting down before his eyes closed and he slipped under completely.

Several minutes passed and Grimmjow watched his sleeping lover's chest rise and fall in shallow, laboured breaths, morbid thoughts bringing a deep frown to his face. His ruminations were interrupted when the door burst open and Urahara shouted he hurry as they were waiting upon him.

The hunt had begun.

...

LONDON

Later That Day

Sunset

Carfax Abbey

...

Dracula's resting place struck almost as much fear into one's heart as he himself did - a boneyard littered with crumbling ruins, a medieval tower's decayed remains, and overgrown weeds. As night fell and sunlight faded away, a dreary fog blanketed the ominous den of the immortal beast and hung in the air thick with death's musty, rotten scent. And into this sinister, ungodly place entered five men and their torches flickering flares, accompanied by two trained hounds straining at their leashes a blue-haired man held.

Treading warily along a crooked path around broken, uneven stone walls and rubble in step with the rest of the hunting party, Grimmjow searched the area with narrowed eyes, looking for even the slightest movement within the shadows. His acute faculties not picking up anything, he released the hounds and the animals padded ahead, sniffing out any trace of the immortal game they pursued.

A few yards further the men came upon a vast array of bound crates large enough any of them could fit inside comfortably - they had reached the chamber that was the heart of the lair. The boxes made from wooden boards bearing crests depicting crimson dragons and sealed shut by knotted ropes were all too familiar to Grimmjow's eyes, a hateful sneer curling his lip at the reminder he had played a part in their journey across Europe from that cursed land where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet.

None of them sensed the menacing presence high above, a pair of midnight sun orbs' deadly stare invisible to mortal sight as the pale demon for which they searched hung upside down from the ceiling in darkness.

Urahara swung around to face Grimmjow and the three brothers, his torch's flames quivering. "Destroy every box. Sterilize the earth inside. Leave him no refuge." he instructed in earnest. "Let the exorcism begin." Setting their torches aside so light illuminated the chamber, every man grasped the axes they carried and swung the blades over their heads, splintering wood as they smashed the dirt-filled crates to pieces.

While the four of them demolished their enemy's obscene cradles, a destructive clamor sounded throughout Carfax Abbey and Urahara began placing lit candles, bottles of holy water, and oversized crucifixes in the revealed mounds of earth. Reading holy prayers in Latin written on the pages of a sacred text and throwing holy water in the sign of the cross, his steady chanting rose above the demolition's raucous noise and the crackles of the bonfire burning all the wood.

Silently snarling at seeing his sanctuary defaced and wrecked beyond repair, the ghostly white being perched overhead cursed them all to the pits of hell. But then he realized not what he truly cared for was lost, his real prized possession at last awaiting him all alone. Laughing evilly, he called upon his godless powers and willed his corporeal body dissipate into a fine, phosphorus white mist.

In this form he flew away from the abbey and hunting party, soaring through the night sky and over London faster than the wind. He crossed the city within seconds, descending upon a sprawling estate and heading toward the gardens. Flitting along the greenery maze pathways, he slowed once he arrived at a set of steps leading up to a patio and then paned glass, double doors, swiftly floating the distance to them. However, he paused right before the transparent portal, looking to the scene that lay beyond and spurred warring emotions within himself - the beautiful, adored vision lying upon the bed encompassed by mystical wards that repelled him the source of both aching ecstasy and venomous rage.

"Your impotent men with their foolish spells cannot protect you from my power," his disembodied voice vowed. "Our bond cannot be broken, we... are destined."

Inside the room, Ichigo moaned and started twisting within his sheets of ivory satin as a seductive call pulled him from sleep. A sudden sensation of heady arousal washed over him, the orangette grasping at his nightshirt's linen fabric and running his hands up and down his body, trying to satisfy his burgeoning lust. At that moment, he rivaled the most enticing siren and wantonly tempted the presence slipping underneath his bedroom doors.

The snowy mist creeped close to the edge of the bed, slithering under the sheets and caressing its way up Ichigo's entire, tantalizing frame. The boy felt a satisfying weight that gradually settled against him and he somehow knew that touch belonged to his dearest prince. "Yes, my love, you found me," he murmured contentedly, finally opening his eyes so that he may look upon the radiant, purest white countenance he had cherished for centuries.

"My most precious life... Ichigo," Shirosaki uttered lovingly, cradling a lighter than usual cheek in a black-nailed hand and aching with adoration when Ichigo lay a hand over his.

"I've wanted this to happen, I know that now," the orange-haired youth said, reverently staring deep into his prince's shadowy, golden gaze - the only mortal on the face of the earth unafraid to do so. "I want to be with you always."

"You cannot know what you are saying," Shirosaki whispered fervently, pain wracking his entire being as it constantly did when faced with the gravity of what he was doing to his love so he would never lose Ichigo again.

"Yes, I do," the other insisted breathlessly, reaching up to tangle his fingers in the vampire's long locks the color of moonlight. "I feared I would never see you again. I thought you were dead." Ichigo arched into the one above him, curving against a familiar flawlessly designed physique and gasping at the myriad of memories it brought to him. He was delirious with the flood of emotions that followed, vaguely aware of the cool lips touching his own ever so lightly.

Shiro bestowed the orangette with a few, feather-like kisses and, desire surging from deep within, slid down Ichigo's body in order to taste every inch of silken skin. Once his mouth glided along a lithe torso and felt the lines of the other's hipbones, the white-haired divinity straightened up, grasping Ichigo's hand drawing him near so that they were seated wrapped in each other's arms. Shirosaki then took that hand and pressed it over his heart, letting his forehead bend forward and rest against his love's.

"There is... no life in this body," he confessed.

Ichigo's blood ran cold when there was no living heartbeat under his palm, eyes widening and horror coursing through him like electric shocks. "But you live! You live..." he exclaimed in disbelief, fleeing backwards to the headboard and shaking his head. "What are you? I must know, you must tell me!"

"I am nothing... lifeless, soulless... hated and feared," Shiro said, turning away as he detested himself for revealing those wicked truths to the one he desperately wished stay innocent to such things. He certainly did not deserve it when Ichigo reached out and caressed his shoulder comfortingly. Baring his teeth, Shirosaki curled in on himself and continued on viciously, his hatred for everything save his reincarnated love seeping into his voice. "I am dead to all the world... hear me! I am the monster the breathing men would kill. I... am... Dracula."

Ichigo gasped and covered his mouth with his hands, shock rapidly giving way to fury. He flung himself forward and weakly slammed his fists against Shirosaki's back pitifully.

"No! You-... you are the one who has been doing this to me!" Ichigo cried and though angry at finding out the demon drinking his blood and his dear prince were one and the same, his vision blurred as tears gathered in his eyes. Catching his wrists, Shiro spun back around and held the orangette flush with his chest. Ichigo struggled to get away, whining in frustration and beating the vampire's chest, but Shirosaki did not let go, willingly taking the blows. Screaming through gritted teeth, the mortal of the two collapsed in those strong arms and heaved with sobs, staring helplessly into his prince's face. "Why do I love you? Oh, God forgive me, I do," he said. "I-... I wantto be what you are, see what you see, love what you love."

"Ichigo, to walk with me, you must die to your breathing life and be reborn to mine," Shiro said, gripping both the other's hands in his. This was it, the moment he would at last put an end to his wretched lifetimes of loneliness longing to be with his beloved once more.

"You are my love and my life, always. Your life is my own."

"Then I give you life eternal, everlasting love, the power over the storm and the beasts of the earth," Shirosaki said as if his words were his wedding vows, binding them together until the death that would never come. "Walk with me as my angelic prince once again, my greatest treasure, forever."

"I will, yes, yes." Bliss sang through Ichigo's veins, feeling as if he had waited for this his entire life. His soul had walked alone endlessly, torn apart from its other half for hundreds of years and now finally whole once again. He let his head fall back at Shiro's touch at the nape of his neck, exposing his throat submissively. His prince brought his other hand up and ripped all of the ornaments adorning Ichigo's neck, tearing the strand of garlic and beaded choker. Entangled within his fingers, the golden crucifix snapped in two and he suppressed a snarl before flinging it across the room.

Pointed fangs then fiercely pierced soft flesh, sinking earnestly into Ichigo's skin and causing him to yelp hoarsely at the sharp agony of being bitten. Shirosaki drank from the orangette hungrily, his blood sweet and beguiling as the nectar of the gods. He was forced to summon all of his willpower to wrest himself away. Red elixir stained and dripped from his pale lips, the animalistic delight sent his lust soaring to great heights and he bent over Ichigo, lowering them both to the bed.

His ebony nails clawed and shredded the linen nightshirt, leaving the boy in tattered strips of fabric that revealed an indecent amount.

Hitching the youth's thighs around his waist, Shiro ran his hands over every last bit of that perfect figure. His actions were frenzied, beastly passion greater than mere man's swelling uncontrollably in his gut. Ichigo was barely able to keep up with the other male, his head spinning and vision fading in and out. However, this did not stop him from enjoying Shirosaki's ministrations, faint, appreciative moans slipping past his lips as he was kissed and fondled from head to toe.

A throbbing heat blossomed in between his thighs that made him desperate for friction and buck his hips up against the other, hooking his ankles behind Shiro's back and cinching his legs tighter so there wasn't an inch between them. The snow white divinity rocked his still clothed lower body teasingly, simultaneously satiating and worsening Ichigo's burning want, and once the youth felt the other's hot hardness grind into he threw his head back and cried wantonly.

Inverted eyes glittering vividly, Shirosaki rose to his knees and ripped his black tunic open, exposing his porcelain chest, smooth and perfectly muscled. As the orangette watched, enraptured, he sliced a thin slit through flawless alabaster skin right where his heart should be. Blood pooled to the surface, spilling over and trickling down in vivid, red rivulets. "Drink, Ichigo, and join me in eternal life," he husked, exalted when Ichigo swept upwards and attached his mouth to the bleeding wound.

As his love drank his immortal blood, heavenly euphoria wracked and shook him to the core, his body shuddering madly. Yet somehow uneasy thoughts forming in the back of his mind broke through his enchantment, compelling him to push Ichigo away and whip his head to the side, tormented by an inner battle between equal forces. "No... I cannot let this be," he said with great effort.

"Please," Ichigo breathed, holding onto either side of the vampire's collar, lips and tongue dyed a bold crimson that dripped from his mouth down his chin and neck. "I don't care, make me yours."

Shirosaki cast his tortured gaze over the boy's face, unsettled by the blood smeared across his pallid complexion. "You'll be cursed as I am and walk through the shadow of death for all eternity," he said, cupping Ichigo's face in his hands tenderly. "I love you too much to condemn you."

"Then take me away from all this death," the youth begged, and Shiro could never refuse him anything, guiding that precious mouth back to his chest. This wave of jubilant bliss was even stronger than the first and he had to grab the headboard as he swayed from its intensity, higher than the heavens. He exhaled brokenly as he sensed their souls bind together, an eternal, unbreakable bond.

Entranced with a feverish delirium Ichigo knew nothing else aside from the warm, ambrosial liquid on his tongue, tasting of the strength he gathered with every swallow. He was so out of this world, dreamily intoxicated, that he continued lapping at the fount of sweet elixir until he heard a deafening thud as the bedroom doors burst open and slammed against the wall, suddenly realizing Shirosaki was gone.

"Ichigo!"

He turned wide, troubled eyes to the five men storming through the doorway who were alarmed by his frightful appearance, looking like a victim of a wild animal attack, his tattered nightshirt clawed to pieces and fresh, smeared blood trailing from his lips to his collarbone. He knew it'd been Grimmjow, who stood at the front beside Professor Urahara, that had called his name and now rushed toward him.

That was, until a gust of wind and a monstrous figure descended upon the bed before him. Horrified, Ichigo muffled his distressed sobs using both hands and felt himself tremble uncontrollably. No longer in his room was his handsome prince and he unwillingly realized this... creature is what he had become.

Seven feet tall, Shirosaki's ghostly white form was now cloaked with equally colorless robes collared in ebony fur and though his long, snowy hair remained, that was all. Surging from his back were massive, leathery, bat-like wings and there was now a jet black mask created from shadows and bearing big, curled horns, jagged white markings on either side, and a set of exposed, bestial teeth.

Fearless in the presence of evil, Urahara brandished a large crucifix toward the demon and started chanting in Latin. However, the holy forces he channeled were no match for his powerful foe, who sliced his hand through the air and flames engulfed the crucifix, the blonde man immediately dropping the fiery object.

"You think you can destroy me with your idols, I who served the cross, I who commanded nations hundreds of years before you were born," the transformed Dracula spat in a distorted, watery voice.

"Your armies were defeated. You tortured and impaled thousands of people!" Urahara shouted above the bales of wind whirling around the room.

"I was betrayed," the vampire hissed, extending his wings and lifting his arms to his sides. "Look at what your God has done to me!"

"No, your war with God is over. You must pay for your crimes!" Whipping a spray of holy water across the demon's face, Urahara again began steadily reciting the sacred rites of exorcism. "The power of Christ compels you!" he declared, throwing more holy water upon ashen flesh that sizzled the places the droplets landed, steam rising from the burned skin. Dracula recoiled, shielding himself with his veined wings and flying backwards to the opposite end of the room.

Seizing the opening left of a clear path to the bed, Grimmjow dashed to where Ichigo was curled in on himself, huddled against the headboard and staring down at his blood-stained hands. As soon as he felt the man's arm wrap around his shoulders, he whimpered pitifully and allowed himself to be carried off the bed, harnessed tightly against the blunette's side.

Shirosaki's gaze instantly snapped to where the shaken orangette, hardly able to breathe, trembled in the arms of that damned man and his eyes narrowed into slits even as a smirk contorted his rows of teeth. Spreading his wings out to their full extent once again, he looked straight into those furious blue eyes.

"He... is now... MINE."

"No!" Grimmjow roared, raising the barrel of his pistol and aiming it for the white devil, he cocked the gun and pulled the trigger.

"No, don't!" Ichigo cried at the last moment, grabbing the man's arm just as the gun went off, bullet shooting astray from its mark. It struck Dracula in the shoulder, the impact making that side of his body jerk backwards and his enraged screech hurt their human ears. The three brothers also raised their weapons and fired, emptying round after round into alabaster skin. Enclosing himself within those leathery wings that repelled the hail of bullets, the vampire receded into the shadows.

"Lights, all lights!" Urahara ordered, the three brothers illuminating the corner into which the beast had retreated with their torches, but the only thing they saw were a disembodied pair of gold and ebony orbs that within the next second vanished. "Search the grounds, he must be found!"

"Unclean... unclean," a quivering voice whispered. Grimmjow glanced down and bristled seeing Ichigo near hysterics, shaking like a leaf as crimson streaked hands hovered in front of his blood-coated mouth. The others bounded past him through the doors and leaving them alone, but he didn't take his gaze away from large, whiskey brown eyes that finally looked up at him shimmering with nightmares and tears. "Grimm... help me."

...

LONDON

Later That Night

Carfax Abbey Burns

The Parlour at the Kurosaki Estate

...

It was the early hours of morning, the darkest time of day, and none of them had yet slept. Currently Grimmjow and the three eldest Kurosaki men patrolled the grounds outside in the pitch black silence, guarding their youngest from Dracula's return, the image of the orange-haired youth ravished and traumatized at the monster's hands permanently seared into their memory. They would die first rather than allow the pale demon cause such harm ever again.

Meanwhile, Professor Urahara sat beside Ichigo in the parlour, he perched on the edge of a glass coffee table whilst the orangette reclined on a chaise longue underneath a woolen blanket. After they had scoured the estate and found no trace of Dracula, the professor had helped Grimmjow clean the blood off of Ichigo's face and neck and stripped him of his ruined nightshirt, redressing him in a white collared shirt and black waistcoat and trousers.

At that point the boy had remained unresponsive and on the verge of hysteria, so Urahara had injected him with a syringe of morphine to dull the agony and dementia plaguing him. The opiate serum flowing through his veins, Ichigo was sedated within minutes. Though mildly intoxicated under the narcotic's spell, he was now somewhat aware of his surroundings and looked up at the professor through lowered lashes. Strangely, he appeared livelier than before his undead suitor's profane seduction earlier that night, a hint of color returned to his cheeks.

"We have learned something much, Draculea fears us," Urahara said, striking a match aflame and holding it to the wick of a small, slender wax candle on a silver handle. "He fears time for, if not, why does he hurry so?"

"He is calm," Ichigo said softly, inhaling deeply.

"How do you know?"

"He speaks to me..." the orangette murmured dreamily and it was true, receptive in his relaxed state to the comforting presence haunting the deep recesses of his mind. It was almost as if he could sense his prince leaning over him and stroking his hair.

"He has an immense mind connection to you. His heart was strong enough to survive the grave," Urahara mused reverently, circling his thumb and pointer finger around his chin.

"You admire him," Ichigo said, lips tilting in a small, knowing smile.

"Ja. He was in life a most remarkable man. His mind was great and powerful, but greater is the necessity to stamp him out and destroy him utterly," the blonde man stated gravely, drawing no reaction to his harsh words.

"Doctor?" the boy whispered, turning his head to face the other completely.

"Ja?"

" I know that I am becoming like him." Despite speaking of something so terrible, Ichigo appeared content, as if he had already accepted his fate. This was no effect of the morphine, either. No drug was potent enough to warp one's natural understanding of good and evil. Love, however...

"Your salvation is his destruction. That is why I want to hypnotize you," Urahara began speaking in a soothing, rhythmic tone and bent closer to his patient, bringing the candle flame to the other's eye level. "I want you to help me find him, Ichigo. Before it is too late, please help me find him. Please. Look into this light, the light of all light, into this flame. Your eyes are heavy. You want to sleep. Sleep now. Sleep..."

Ichigo gazed into the fire, his vision dimming until all he saw was the flickering flame. Then he heard the voice saying his name clear as day, sounding as if that who beckoned to him were really there.

"He calls to me," Ichigo professed, silvery words caressing his face and hair before whispering into his ear. The flame he stared into blurred, splitting into two swirling orbs floating in the shadows and becoming those spellbinding eyes unlike all others. They pierced straight into his soul and lured it outside Ichigo's body and beyond the world he knew.

"What do you hear?" Urahara urged gently, enticing the answer from the orangette's lip. "What do you hear, child? What do you hear?"

Ichigo could not respond at first, overwhelmed by images foreign and yet familiar to him flickering past - roiling, dark blue foamy waves, barrels, crates, and burlap sacks of a ship's cargo swaying with the sea, wooden boards decorated with scarlet red crests of a fire-breathing dragon, and finally a shadowy space filled with fresh earth above which rested the sleeping, ivory face and frosted locks of hair he adored.

"My prince is calling me," he said. "He is traveling across icy seas to his beloved home. There he will grow strong again. I am coming to him to partake of his strength."

"The darkness is not the Light, my child," Urahara warned, hoping he could break the spell the teen was under. "And there are Lights. You are one of the Lights, dear Ichigo, the Light of all Light. Do not let love again be your damnation.

Suddenly the illusions wrenched themselves away, Ichigo's heart breaking as he was abandoned in an ocean of blackness until a few moments later his earthly sight returned to him and illuminated his view of candle and the professor and the rest of the parlour. He immediately shut his eyes, wishing for the lucid visions to come back. From somewhere behind him heavy footsteps on the marble floor announced the others' arrival, those four men walking steadily nearer and then finally rounding either side of the chaise longue.

"No sign of him, Professor," Kon announced, collapsing upon the loveseat opposite them.

"Yes, wherever the bastard is he's probably long gone by now," Kaien sighed and took the seat beside his younger brother, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

"I am afraid it would appear so," came the somber, deep voice of the eldest Kurosaki as he appeared, shrugging off his heavy overcoat. "He has most likely fled in search of a resting place."

"Indeed he has," Urahara said, cupping a hand on the other side of the candle and blowing out the flame. "Dracula travels to his homeland as we speak, to Transylvania, and in order to defeat him and save Ichigo's soul we must be there to stop him from entering. For I fear should Dracula reach his infernal domain before we do all will be lost."

"But you said he has already left," Kaien pointed out, brows knitting together. "How can we possibly beat him to this godforsaken place?"

"Ah, because due to his unholy nature we gain an advantage. You see, Dracula cannot cross running water," the blonde professor explained, smiling. "He may only travel by sea, whereas we have other methods for journeying there, and let us not forget we have among us a man who ventured to that godless land and lived to tell the tale. Isn't that right, Mister Jaegerjaques?"

The four men engaged in the conversation all glanced to the blue-haired man standing on the other side of the chaise longue, his cerulean orbs not looking away from the resting orangette lying there, eyes closed and oblivious to their discussion yet not quite asleep.

"We can get to the Count's castle before him, if we take the next train out," Grimmjow said, no one doubting him for an instant. Sidestepping the chaise, he slipped his gloved hand under his coat lapel and withdrew a folded piece of yellowed canvas encompassed by inked script and undulating lines. He stopped in front of the coffee table, Urahara rising to his feet and Kaien removing his to clear the space for Grimmjow to spread out a map of Europe, railroad tracks symbols printed along where the real ones lay. The group all leaned in close to hear the man's strategy for hunting down the beast they all wanted dead.

"We leave London and ride the express south to the coast where we'll sail across the English Channel," he informed the other men, tracing his finger along the route they would take. "From Paris, we travel through the Alps to Budapest and at the Black Sea port at Varna we will meet Dracula's ship, burn it into the sea, and send him back to Hell."

"Sounds perfect to me, Jaegerjaques," Kaien said, smirking humorlessly. "I eagerly look forward to it."

"I believe we all do," Mugetsu agreed, bending down so he could point to the southernmost tip of Spain. "The Count will have to sail around the rock of Gibraltar, I have a clerk located nearby that we may post as a lookout. He can tell us when and if the monster's ship passes by." Only earning a nod in response from Grimmjow, they fell silent for a few long moments.

"Come, we must prepare to leave at dawn and hurry for that is mere hours away," Urahara declared, clapping his hands together sharply. "Go and make haste, there is not a second to be lost when chasing the devil!" The professor waved the Kurosaki men away, the three of them quickly heading back into the main part of the manor, and then turned to Grimmjow who glared down at the map with a lethal intent he knew was for the fiend attempting an escape to his origins. "As I'm sure you are aware, it is bitterly cold in the Carpathians this time of year. Anemic as he is, Ichigo will need a great deal more warm attire than the rest of us. I know I can entrust you to gather a suitable wardrobe for him, Ja?"

The blunette glanced at him and over his shoulder at the figure of his motionless lover and then back to him. He swept the map off the glass coffee table and folded the parchment back up, tucking it inside his coat. "I'll take care of it," Grimmjow muttered, his gaze still fearsome as he brushed past the blonde man.

Urahara sighed, praising God he'd never cared for anything other than science and free from the baleful perils of love. Grabbing the handle of his doctor's briefcase, the professor Urahara hurried to catch up with Grimmjow on the stairs, clasping the man's shoulder with his free hand as they continued over the parlour threshold. "I say, my good man, do you know how to whittle a wooden stake?"

...

TRANSYLVANIA

Several Days Later

Midday

On a Train

...

They had left London just as the first light of dawn appeared on the horizon, departing at the station closest to the southeastern harbor where they boarded the ship that sailed their party across the English Channel. Their supposed brief trip sailing to the French coast took a bad turn when a terrible storm ravaged the channel, its merciless waves, torrential rains, and incredible winds delaying their arrival by several hours. They knew it was Dracula who'd conjured the storm, for he commanded those forces of nature.

Yet they still held the advantage, since by train they traveled from Paris through the Swiss alps and then to the station in Budapest within three days. By sea it would take the Count at least a week, and once his ship docked at the port at Varna they would see through to the end of their plan and set his vessel ablaze in the Black Sea with the flames that would cast him back into Hell.

At present, the vampire hunters were still aboard their private passenger car on the train, now stopped at the last station before Galatz, the end of the line. One man was absent, however, as Mugetsu had gone inside the station building expecting that the telegraph from his clerk at Gilbrador had been transmitted.

Meanwhile, the car was relatively silent, the air seeming to crackle and buzz with anticipation as tensions ran high - the calm before the storm. At their dining table Kaien squinted with one eye at the open chamber of his pistol, reloading the gun by sliding individual bullets into its slots. Directly across from him, Kon was also seated at the table, leaning on his elbow while reading from one of his former professor's antiquated texts detailing everything bizarre and supernatural. Amassed between the two brothers atop their map was an assortment of the weaponry they would need in the days ahead - revolvers, bandoliers packed with bullets, gun holsters, and a collection of daggers and other blades.

Further down, in the corner, was Grimmjow, bending over the twelve inch shaft of wood he carved between his legs with a bowie knife into a dangerously sharp spike. It was the only sound within the space, a slow scratch as the knife's edge smoothed over the rough wood repetitively. He never so much as glanced anywhere else, fiercely fixated on his task.

In the opposite corner, Urahara sat cross legged on a plush, velvet wingback chair big enough to seat two men, looking back and forth between outside the window to the majestic landscape's snow-capped, forested mountains and the slumbering orangette swaddled in furs in the seat across from his. He was baffled by the boy, who seemed to ebb in and out of consciousness, sometimes himself again and other times the more recent delirious, possessed version. By all means, he should've lost the last of his humanity and transformed completely by now, yet somehow he still managed to defend his soul against the vampiric curse.

Right on cue, Ichigo's shallow breath hitched audibly and instantly every pair of eyes were on him. His lips parted, drawing in rapid gasps of air that caused wheezing painful just to listen to and then he was coughing pathetically. Head tossing side to side, he winced whilst his eyelids quivered as if they would open. Urahara scooted forward on his chair, leaning close to the sick teen, and gently moved his lips aside. Shaking his head, the blonde discovered two porcelain points emerging from the gums above the eyeteeth.

Having watched since the very first noise his love had made, Grimmjow bolted across the train car to the liquor cabinet and snatched Professor Urahara's briefcase, shoving his hand inside and grabbing the glass jar, tubing, and needles for a transfusion. However, Urahara turned to him and held up a hand, signaling he stop.

"The vampire has baptized her with his own blood," he said difficulty. "His blood is dying, my friend. It's no use."

Frustrated, Grimmjow's upper lip curled back, a feral glare overwhelming his handsome face. He thrust the items back inside the briefcase and that was when Ichigo decided to wake, inhaling sharply and eyes flying open as if startled. Immediately, he searched the car frantically, relieved when he found a shock of electric blue amongst the browns and reds of the train's decor and straightened up, intending to stand.

Though they had spent almost their journey's every waking moment in each other's company, Ichigo missed that man like they'd been apart an eternity and wanted to hold him close, to feel safe and warm and alive.

Yet, not even an inch off the seat, hands belonging to the professor and the blue-haired man hurriedly guided him back down. Ichigo did not protest for his vision blurred a few seconds and surely would've made him dizzy upon standing. As his sight cleared, a broad, heated palm cradled his face - the only part of his body not swathed under a thick layer of material.

The four other men visibly relaxed upon recognizing they had been graced by the real Ichigo, knowing they hadn't entirely lost him yet. Nevertheless, the two Kurosaki's and Urahara witnessed the intimate stare their youngest gave his lover and understood they needed some semblance of privacy, the professor ambling over to the dining table and offering to show Kaien a better way of packing gunpowder.

"We're in Romania now, in the mountains," Grimmjow said, considering the younger man hadn't been fully conscious since somewhere in the Alps.

"I know," Ichigo said, smiling sadly. "I can feel it - we are close." He had almost forgotten how much he adored the sound of Grimmjow's voice, that deep, rumbling baritone. That rough velvet speak soothed him like nothing else and while sleep trapped him in a wild fantasy he could not hear it.

"Yes, we are close. Close to the end," the blunette murmured, sitting beside the other's legs facing him and letting his hand drop to his own lap. "And then you and I can finally move to the countryside to a place just for us, remember?"

"Just us..." Ichigo trailed off, his dreams of living in peace with his man seeming as if from another lifetime. His gaze traveled to the window, the scenery much different than the light green springtime fields of the English countryside. "After all I have done to you? Awful, bad, evil things - "

"No! You've done nothing wrong," Grimmjow commanded, grasping the orangette's chin and forcing him to look him in the eye. "No, this is my fault. I have done this to both of us."

Ichigo opened his mouth to protest but a powerful voice filled his head, so thunderous he clamped both hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut. He heard Grimmjow said his name, then again louder, and there was the sound of shuffling footsteps approaching him. This was the most intense experience with the voice to date and he felt as if he'd dived into a freezing, rushing river, the unforgiving waters pulling him under. He shook his head, beginning to shiver bitterly under his thick furs.

Despite that everyone had gathered around the boy, Grimmjow was the first and only to action, gathering Ichigo in his arms and prying the hands off his ears. "He's coming closer," Ichigo uttered senselessly. "He's calling me to him."

"Ichigo!" Grimmjow shouted, shaking the trembling youth until his eyes opened, brighter than ever. "Ichigo, stay with me. Please."

"I'm... s-so... c-c-cold."

The boy's lashes fluttered rapidly until shutting closed permanently and he slumped in the blunette's embrace, head falling back and neck fully extended. "Let him sleep, for now," Urahara said quietly and Grimmjow nodded, expression stormy as he lay Ichigo down on the chair in a comfortable position. He ran his fingers through silken tangerine hair once and then was gone, returning to his task at hand.

Once he walked a few steps away, the professor again took his place opposite the ill child and bowed forward, placing two fingertips at the base of Ichigo's throat to check for the slow, faint beating of his dying heart. Afterwards, he reclined in his chair and started to stroke his lightly stubbled chin, appearing to carefully study the orange-haired youth like a puzzle he seeked to solve.

"Something troubling you, Professor?" Kon asked, coming to stand at the blonde man's side and resting an arm on the back of his chair.

"I am simply pondering the unusual case of our dear Ichigo..." Urahara mused mildly and even though he spoke casually, a certain blue-haired man hung on his every word. "To find the love of a lifetime is a blessing... but to be the one soul on this earth to possess two different loves of two different lifetimes, that... that is a curse."

To those within the train car time stopped, none of them making the slightest movements or noise or anything aside from trying to comprehend the professor's words. Of course, time still ticked on by and within the minute a blast of cold air announced the arrival of their absent companion, setting everything back into motion.

Attention entirely on him, Mugetsu entered the passenger car in full winter garb, removing his fur hat and holding out a piece of paper that Kaien quickly took, seeing it was a message from the lookout posted at Gilbradar. "The Count's ship sailed past us in the night fog to the northern port of Galatz," he read aloud, whipping the paper down to his lap. "Damn it, how did he know to reroute his path?"

"Is it possible he expected we planned to meet him at the port at Varna?" Kon wondered, brows knitted together as he thought hard of reasonable explanations, when there was nothing ever 'reasonable' about the Count's and his dark powers.

"Yes. I believe he not only expected those were our plans but knew it for a fact," Urahara said, lighting a cigar dangling from his mouth, inhaling deeply. Situating the cigar between two fingers, he blew out swirls of smoke and pointed it at the boy in front of him, whimpering in his sleep. "The black devil is reading Ichigo's mind."

"I feared the cause had supernatural origins" Mugetsu sighed, brushing some of his long, black hair over his shoulder and walking to the cluttered dining table. "How will we catch him now?"

Grimmjow promptly rose to his feet, leaving bowie knife and wood behind, and strode across the car, circling around the table so he stood in front of the three Kurosaki's. Clearing the map's surface with a sweep of his arm, he bent down a little and tapped the location of the harbor Dracula's ship would make port. "Varna... Galatz, it's about 200 miles," he told the men avidly listening, huddled close to the center. "With the horses we can cut him off, reach him before he reaches the castle."

"So you mean to propose all six of us ride there?" Kaien asked, his dislike of that idea clearly implied.

Cerulean orbs cornering just for a second to the side where Ichigo rested, looking incredibly fragile, pale and wrapped in that mass of thick furs, Grimmjow knew there was no other way. "We'll dispatch Urahara straight to Borgo Pass with the carriage... and Ichigo," he instructed, his will not to be questioned by anyone. He met Urahara's gaze unfalteringly, exchanging a look that confirmed more than words ever could. "If we fail in our task, you will have to finish him."

...

TRANSYLVANIA

The Next Day

Somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains

...

Thankfully, when the hunting party reached the station marked as the place the professor and the youngest Kurosaki would deboard from the train and separate from the others, Ichigo again broke free of his unnatural slumber, waking abruptly as he realized someone was carrying him. His instincts dulled by the vampiric illness, he was still while peering through flurries of snow and recognized Grimmjow's face even though everything was covered by his winter apparel except his eyes.

But he would always know those eyes, those eerily phosphorescent, royal blue eyes.

"Where are we?" was the first thing Ichigo thought to ask, causing those eyes to swoop down to his face, startled. Grimmjow stopped walking, his arms tightening around the orangette and then dropping one so his legs fell underneath him and he could stand on his own. The older man lifted his black leather gloved hand, lowering the wool scarf protecting his face from under the eyes below and tucking it under his chin.

"The station at Borgo Pass," he answered, lips quirking in what passed for his smile these days. Then without a second's hesitation pressed those lips to Ichigo's, who was fortunate the man held him so tightly as his knees buckled from the intensity of the kiss, and when Grimmjow broke away he was seeing stars. Chuckling deeply, the blue-haired man smirked and Ichigo could've easily pictured this moment happening at a time long before all of this. "Sorry, but I had to steal just one more."

Ichigo blinked, his familiar scowl appearing on his face in his confusion. "I don't understand," he said, a hint of desperation in his voice, and gripped onto the lapels of Grimmjow's black cojurn coat.

"You and the professor will be traveling through the Pass by carriage," the older man informed, succeeding at keeping his composure calm and steady, the fear he wished to hide not for himself but for the one before him. "Your brothers and I are continuing on towards Galatz. We want to intercept Dracula before he reaches land."

Still not fully comprehending what their plans entailed, Ichigo stepped back and surveyed the wintry mountainscape surrounding them, spinning around cautiously and catching sight of his brothers helping the professor reign two jet black horses to an open carriage. Shoulders slumping a little as he understood, a spike of fear pierced through the sorrow enveloping him and he practically threw himself back around into Grimmjow's solid form.

"I suppose this is our last time together until... after this is over," Ichigo said, words muffled against the blunette's neck. He drew a few inches away, locking his gaze to endless depths of vivid, true blue. "Kiss me again," he said huskily, the instant the demand left his tongue his breath stolen by another kiss, excruciating and perfect .

He could feel Grimmjow pouring every last bit of his devotion into him and sent his in return. Snow floated in the air around them, sprinkling white powder on their faces and in their air. And then it was over. Once those full lips tore away from him, Ichigo gasped and clutched the man's coat even tighter, knowing this was it.

Grimmjow knew, as well, and captured Ichigo's hand in both of his, flattening the palm on his chest, right above his heart. Biting his lip hard as a steady, strong rhythm beat under his touch, the orangette relished sensing something so vital and so alive. "Feel that?" Grimmjow whispered, earning a nod from his lover. "That's all for you, sweetheart. It'll always be all for you."

Ichigo couldn't resist kissing the man just one last time, this one sweet and fleeting. "I really do love you, I swear," he breathed against Grimmjow's lips. "I shall see you at the end."

And then the train blew its deafening whistle, which meant it was time to be going. Ichigo bid each of his brothers farewell until they were reunited that following evening, their embraces especially long, afraid this may be the last time they see their youngest brother alive or human. They boarded the train altogether, leaving Grimmjow to watch the dense Transylvanian forest swallow the horse drawn carriage. He stood there in the snow, clothes covering everything save his eyes rippling in the wind.

He feared for Ichigo. He was now their decoy.

...

TRANSYLVANIA

Later That Evening

The Borgo Pass

...

Nightfall came early that evening, the winter sun disappearing quickly to the west and bringing the bluish, dusky atmosphere of twilight. The powdery snow had ceased falling from the gray clouds carpeting the sky and temperatures were plummeting, the night air colder than ever.

During that day's travel it was much colder than expected and chilled Ichigo to the bone, the professor insisting they stop and find him something else to wear. Fortunately, it seemed Grimmjow had stowed within their supplies the warmest piece of clothing Ichigo owned and he'd pulled it on as fast as possible, his icy skin quickly thawing. To elaborate, it was a great, pure white traveling cloak, lined with wool and ermine and there was an oversized hood he used to shield his face from the wind.

Urahara was relatively silent the length of the carriage ride along the tree-ensconced pathway passing through the Carpathian mountains, so there was little conversation between them. Ichigo didn't really care, or even notice, he was far too interested in the wild, untamed place they trespassed. There was a raw, primal sense about it, a terrible beauty that struck a chord deep within him, as if he had longed to walk the ground where nature reigned, merciless and all-powerful.

"I know this place," he said, hearing his name on the wind and suddenly burning with the urge to make his way further into this hallowed land.

"The end of the world," Urahara declared evenly, seated to the other's right where he'd driven the horses since morning.

"We must go on," Ichigo insisted, his want to do so now physical, his very skin hurting. They had to keep going, they had to.

"It is late, child. We must rest here now."

"No, we must go!" he protested furiously, grabbing the reins in the professor's hands and yanking them toward him. Yet Urahara held on, surprised by the boy's seemingly unprovoked anxiety and pulling the reins away from him.

"Ichigo!" he shouted, attempting to snap him out of whatever trance the vampire had entrapped him.

"He needs me. We must go!" Ichigo screamed viciously, struggling even harder with Urahara for possession of the reins and even trying to kick the man. His body was frail from anemia, however, and within moments he could fight no longer, releasing the reins and crying in frustration. "Damn you," he swore through gritted teeth, having backed far as possible into the opposite corner and glaring his hatred.

Urahara ignored the teenager's murderous looks as they continued on, their pair of black horses galloping through the forest and higher atop the mountains, careening around the ledges carved into their precipices as the pathway delved deeper into Transylvania. Scanning the nearby area, he sought out a place they could make camp for the night, but before long spied something else among the rocky terrain - little specks hastily moving further along the mountainside road the way they had come.

Jerking on the reins to stop the horses, he tossed them to a bewildered Ichigo and thrust his hand inside his briefcase seated between them, wrenching a pair of binoculars out of the bag. Lifting them up to his eyes and rotating the lens, he focused in on the specks and after a few seconds sighed heavily. "What is it, Professor?" Ichigo asked, a little panicked by the man's sudden actions.

"Gypsies," Urahara said, identifying them by their customary, entirely fur ensembles and the fact they rode bareback without a saddle. He lowered the binoculars and stuffed them back in his briefcase, holding out his hand for the reins Ichigo returned to him. "Ja, they serve Dracula. They hurry back down the Borgo Pass on his commands - what those may be, I do not know. Hold on tightly; we must go to the castle as quickly as possible."

Urahara snapped the reins, spurring the horses into a fast gallop that made the carriage bounce violently over the road and Ichigo did have to cling to his seat in order to not be thrown to the ground. Eventually, the snowy, magnificent scenery blurred and he began feeling light-headed. Just when he opened his mouth to speak to the professor, the world blackened and he collapsed in the carriage seat.

The dreams came as they always did, yet this one was markedly different. He could see everything clearly in glorious daylight and it was magnificent. A bright smile lit his face and his chest tightened with emotion because now he could swear on his life that he knew this place. The stone towers, the emerald mountains, the rushing river, the lush vineyards, the vibrant flowers... it was the place from his memories but could not remember. It was their place.

A light breeze ruffled through his hair and clothes, carrying that voice he could never forget, the voice he had heard all his life. "Together forever..." it said to him. Ichigo wanted to say yes, forever and ever, he would have sworn it on his life, but the shadows descended upon him, shrouding him in their cloying despair. He fought them like a wild animal until their shadowy clutches abruptly dropped him and he plummeted through pitch black.

Jolting awake, his eyes flew open and he lay a hand over his racing heart, trying to catch his breath. "Ah, you are awake, Ja? Good," Urahara said somewhere close to where he realized he was laying on a plush pelt on the ground. Cautiously, he pushed himself to a sitting position and took in everything around him, gasping silently.

Ancient, crumbling towers loomed directly over them, situated on a wide cliff encircled by incredible mountains and dense, foreboding forest and stories above a frightening, icy river, all piled high with freshly fallen snow. It was the same place from his dreams - decrepit, frozen, and dead, but the same. "Are we...?"

"Ja, we are at Castle Dracula."

He must've been unconscious a few hours at least, for the other man had finished setting up camp inside battered stone walls four to five feet high and circling out from the main part of the castle. Four torches flared at each corner and a fire burned in the center, emitting warmth and heating whatever was in the metal pan Urahara simmered above the flames. A wolf howled in the distance and Ichigo drew his white cloak tightly around him, almost impossible since the garment was so large he was practically swimming in it.

His head ached, temples pounding brutally, so he shut his eyes and willed it go away. It only grew worse, the throbbing ache spreading to his chest and mouth, and shivers ran down his spine. There was an ominous presence pressing down on him, making it even harder to breathe, and clouded his mind, leaving broken thoughts. He sensed Urahara approach him at his side, proffering a plate of something smelling awful, disgusting. "Here, you must eat," the blonde man said.

"I am not hungry!" Ichigo spat savagely, knocking the plate of food from the professor's hands. Voices of the darkness coiled around him, inhuman, snake-like hisses and hypnotic, melodic singing, calling his name, beckoning to him. He turned on Urahara, who backed away as the orangette prowled on all fours like a predator toward him.

Unholy, raspy chanting flew around Ichigo's body and rose to his knees, breathing heavily and whining while running his hands up and down his figure, clawing at his neck and chest. That was when Urahara heard them too, the seductive voices bewitching his mind with a sinful lullaby and therefore he did not notice Ichigo beginning to thrash uncontrollably, screaming hoarsely and tearing his collar away from his throat. The blonde man tilted his head back, eyes closed and swaying dreamily as the voices from the otherside lulled him into a hazy trance. Across the fire, Ichigo convulsed frenziedly and shrieked like a banshee under the sinister spell, falling to the ground seizing uncontrollably.

And then the boy stopped, rising to his feet, and slowly faced the older man. Unclasping the top four buttons on his cloak, he lowered his lashes and bit his lip. "You've been so good to me, Professor," he said breathily, half bare chest heaving, and started sauntering toward Urahara, slinking sensually around the fire. "You know, I've always harboured secret desires for you," Ichigo professed, sidling up flush with the man's body, the latter utterly blinded by lust. "And I know what men desire..."

Eagerly wrapping his arms around the teen's waist, Urahara fervently kissed those full, soft lips, devouring a delicious, warm mouth. Then he sank down to his knees, feverishly kissing that lithe, alluring torso, and never saw the wicked smirk appear on Ichigo's sadistically amused expression. He knew nothing but the erotic longing hot in his loins. That was, until Ichigo grabbed his ash blonde hair and yanked his head backwards.

"When you're finished with me, will you drive a stake through my heart and send me to Hell, you worthless bastard," Ichigo seethed venomously. He bared his teeth ferally, sharp fangs fully extended, and forced the older man's head to the side. Hissing cruelly, he swept down, fangs aimed directly for the jugular and just inches away when Urahara flew back, skidding a few feet away. Now coming to his senses, the professor watched Ichigo snarl bestially and lunge after him.

"Not while I live! I have sworn to protect you!" Urahara shouted, keeping out of the changed youth's reach and searching his pocket for a small, round object he then brandished in front of him - a piece of sacramental bread he spouted frantic Latin to bless it as the Holy Eucharist and touched it to Ichigo's forehead. The orangette screamed in pain as the Eucharist burned his skin and Urahara removed it, relieved upon seeing Ichigo shudder as his fangs receded completely into his gums and then curl into himself, shivering terribly.

"No!" Urahara commanded the demonic voices filling the air, snatching a torch and walking around he and Ichigo lighting a ring of fire on the ground . "We're safe within the circle. I will not lose you to him. Disciples of Satan, this is holy ground! Leave this place now! Leave this ground. I command you, in the name of Christ!"

Cackling malevolently, the voices faded from their presence and he lowered himself to kneel beside the prostrate Ichigo. Clasping the boy's shoulders, Urahara lifted him from the snow and glanced at the bright red mark left on his forehead. "Fear not, Ichigo, for we have not lost you yet. Sleep now, sleep... sleep," he said, moving his torch back and forth in front of dark amber orbs that rapidly dimmed as Ichigo fell fast asleep, slumping lifelessly in the professor's hold.

Later that night, yet another voice passed over them, this one not heard by the older man's ears because it was meant for the one curled on his side in his immense white cloak.

"My love... my Ichigo... forever..."

...

TRANSYLVANIA

The Next Day

Sundown

Castle Dracula

...

Dracula had outsmarted them yet again, as they had learned last evening that his gypsies had taken charge of the vampire's box at Galatz and were now on the Borgo Pass road. Four of the demon's servants rode on either side of the covered wagon barrelling across the mountainside, two more driving the reined horses pulling it through the snow. Within the massive crate strapped securely with ropes under the wagon's cover was the mound of Romanian earth burying a ghostly white being up to his neck, his pale lips parting in a husky whisper.

"Ichigo... You and me..."

"My love," came the answer uttered in the castle's shadow, Ichigo rushing to the edge of his and the professor's camp site. Urahara quickly joined him, peer through his binoculars and spotting where the gypsies and their wagon sped along the road, four horsemen furiously chasing close behind. He allowed the anxious orangette to also look through them, frowning deeply.

"They're racing against the sunset," the man said. "It may be too late."

However, those four he spoke of were only spurred on faster as they were bathed in the dying sunlight, charging like fury itself across the mountain's ledge more determined than ever. Gaining in on the band of gypsies, Grimmjow led their storming rampage astride a jet black beast snorting visible puffs of air out its flaring nostrils. His lips curled in a permanent snarl, almost crazed azure orbs glowing savagely, and bloodthirsty aura struck terror into the hearts of those gypsies who looked back at him and realized their master was not the only one to be feared here.

Fast as lightning, the blue-haired hunter reached for and withdrew his revolver from its holster under his arm. Cocking it with a flick of his thumb, he pulled the trigger and barely paid attention to the gypsy who clutched his chest and was flung from his horse. At his left flank, Mugetsu, dark hair flying behind him, drew his own gun and sent a bullet tearing through another gypsy's neck in instant death.

Howling madly in battle lust, Kaien surged to the lead and twirled his pistol in his hand before picking off another fur-shrouded form. The castle now a minute away, Grimmjow bounded straight for the wagon alongside the brunette, Kon and Mugetsu staying back to continue shooting at their remaining enemies. They collided with two mounted gypsies each, the fiends attacking with curved scythes. Dodging the blade aimed at his throat, Grimmjow darted forward and slammed an elbow into his assailant's face, hearing a satisfying crunch upon impact. The gypsy's hands flying to his bloodied face, the blunette was free to grab the collar of a fur cloak and fling its owner over the mountain's edge, an uneven yell swiftly quieting to nothing.

Listening to the commotion outside, the white-haired immortal lying in his sacred earth was not concerned for he could sense his love growing closer every passing second.

"Ichigo..."

At the castle's western side, Professor Urahara watched completely bewildered as Ichigo hurried across the campsite and climbed onto a ledge ten feet above the ground. He was certain it was Dracula who guided the youth in his actions, especially when Ichigo extended his right arm straight in front of him, palm facing outward, and started shouting in ancient Romanian. His exultant voice grew so loud his incantations echoed throughout the castle walls and pulsating rings of blue fire materialized soaring up into the sky. They disappeared within the clouds that immediately darkened and thickened menacingly, converging over the setting sun.

Even as this happened the now coverless wagon with its remaining gypsies and the four hunters streaked through the castle gates and burst into the courtyard. Two hidden gypsy men armed with shotguns leaping down after the hunting party. Kon sensed them approaching and instinctually shot over his shoulder, hitting one in the thigh so that he dropped to the snow, clutching his leg spraying blood at the wound. The iron barred gate then plunged to the ground, slamming shut.

Kaien unsheathed a long, thin blade out of his cane, fending off the incoming scythe a gypsy wielded below him on foot. The two other hunters decided to dismount, Mugetsu procuring a similarly designed sword he handled in his left hand while he used his pistol in his right and with a gypsy clashed blades.

To the west of the battle in the courtyard, Professor Urahara sprinted after a senselessly running orangette whose feet carried him as if he glided above the stone ruins and snowy ground, ivory cloak flying back in the air like wings. His heart aching due to his love calling him, that voice itself a force of nature, Ichigo felt like he was dying every moment they were apart. He raced around the castle as fast he could all the way to the courtyard entrance.

With a sob of frustration he threw himself against the iron bars of the gate barring him from entering, spying where his love rested safely inside the crate in the very center of the space, but for how long, he didn't know. There were still minutes before the sun finally set. As he tried desperately to think of another way inside, he somehow sensed a malicious presence at his back and whirled around.

Ichigo relished the pure shock in the gypsy's eyes when instead of cowering fearfully upon staring directly into the barrel of a shotgun, he wrested the weapon out of the other's hands and brutally swung it upside his head, knocking him out cold. Flipping it around so he held it properly, he almost ran into the professor who beckoned for Ichigo to quickly follow him.

Grimmjow advanced on where the crate was still roped to the wagon's platform several feet in the air in the exact center, armed with just a bowie knife he stalked ever closer. A wailing battle cry speeding towards him he cut short, slashing his lethal blade horizontally once it was right by his ear, slitting the gypsy's throat clear across, and then kicking him aside. However, not five seconds later he heard an agonized groan he instantly recognized, whipping his head to the left.

Astride his horse, Kon yelled wordlessly in rage and emptied an entire round of bullets into the gypsy whose dagger was embedded in Mugetsu's lower abdomen, the eldest brother hunched over and gripping the hilt pressed to his flesh. Finishing off his opponent with a slash of his cane sword, Kaien rushed to his two siblings and leapt off his horse as did Kon to tend to the wounded.

Knowing he didn't have any more precious time to waste, Grimmjow faced front again and charged toward the platform bearing the dragon imprinted crate. He vaulted up onto the surface, immediately hacking through the crate's bindings of thick, knotted ropes, shoving the separate pieces aside. From the left corner of the courtyard emerged Urahara and then a wild-eyed Ichigo, clutching the shotgun to his chest.

The sun set.

Shattering pieces of wood and earth explosively, Dracula rose like a dying star's final moment when they shine brighter than ever, gloriously dressed in shimmering ebony robes, frighteningly beautiful, and then it was over, the wooden stake plunged into his heart by Grimmjow's hand.

"NO!"

Ichigo's scream rang throughout the courtyard, the sound of truest pain, as Shirosaki roared monstrously, violently sending the blue-haired man sailing through the air so he landed on his back in the snow. Reddest blood flowing forth from his chest, the vampire staggered off of the platform, Ichigo not hesitating to rush to him. Grimmjow hurriedly got to his feet and started toward them but Urahara appeared before him, halting his trek by holding out a palm and he looked past the man.

Ichigo stood defensively in front of the wounded creature, shotgun raised at shoulder-level and aimed right at him. "When my time comes, will you do the same to me?" he demanded, voice quavering with great emotion though his expression was carved from stone. "Will you?"

Grimmjow didn't answer, just stared into those beloved eyes with everything he had and they only broke away when a thud sounded as Dracula slumped against the set of doors to the left, falling inside as they opened. Ichigo walked backwards the entire way to where the vampire waited for him, never lowering the barrel even as the door swung shut. Kaien and Kon moved to follow after their younger brother and Grimmjow held out an arm, stopping them. "Let them go. Our work is finished here," he ordered. "Ichigo's has just begun."

Past those doors, Shirosaki managed to stumble his way down an aisle before collapsing upon the steps leading up to an altar and Ichigo, hastening to his prince's side, realized bitterly they were in the chapel. He dropped to his knees to the left of Shirosaki, abandoning the shotgun and leaning over his love. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled over, streaking down his face.

"Where is my God? He has forsaken me," Shirosaki rasped and Ichigo grasped the wooden stake, trying to pull it free until an ivory, black-nailed hand lay over his. "It is... finished."

"No! No, my love..." he cried brokenly, bending down to press kisses on his prince's lips.

Divine, golden brilliance illuminated the chapel, lighting the candles, and the gash in the center of the ancient stone cross upon the altar healed itself, sealing over anew. "Our love is stronger than death," Shirosaki whispered, cradling the other's face. "Give me peace..."

His love strong enough to give him the strength he needed in that moment, Ichigo thrust the stake all the way down, piercing the heart straight through. He sobbed harshly as his prince's beautiful eyes rolled heavenward, angelic light beaming upon his precious face, and Ichigo's heart swelled with love as Shiro finally Ascended into paradise. Kissing him one last time, the orangette felt the burn on his forehead vanish and he realized that there, in the presence of God, their love had saved them all from the powers of darkness.

A breeze swept through the chapel, trailing over Shiro's lifeless body and turning it into glittering dust that swirled around Ichigo then up to the ceiling, causing him to look above and smile through his tears. The mural painted there was the one from the book, two lovers amongst the sun and the moon, together forever in the heavens, and it was then Ichigo knew love was not damnation.

Love was redemption.

Love was salvation.

Love was the life.

...

THE END

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have absolutely no idea what to say...

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well, I hope you all have enjoyed the first part, I know I loved writing it. I consider the original story of Dracula to be one of the greatest love stories of all time and was just dying to be rewritten with Ichigo, Grimm, and Shiro. Until the conclusion of this story, then...


End file.
